Atli^rtntt 


fork  anb  IGnnbmt 


I 

BY   THE    SAME   AUTHOR 


THE  CONQUEROR 

A  FEW  OF  HAMILTON'S  LETTERS 

THE  ARISTOCRATS 

SENATOR  NORTH 

HIS  FORTUNATE  GRACE 

PATIENCE    SPARHAWK  AND   HER  TIMES 

RULERS  OF  KINGS 

THE  TRAVELLING  THIRDS 

THE  BELL  IN   THE  FOG 

(CALIFORNIA   SERIES) 
REZANOV 

THE  DOOMS  WOMAN 
THE  SPLENDID  IDLE  FORTIES 
A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  VINE 
THE   CALIFORNIANS 

AMERICAN    WIVES    AND    ENGLISH    HUS 
BANDS 
A   WHIRL  ASUNDER 


Copyright,  1907,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  rescfi'td. 
Published  September,  1907. 


f"   ;i0H  2. 

A  c  -> 


JV\  A  I  l\J 


TO 

lEmma  IHratrtrr  Urtuntrr 


438911 


PART  I 

1904 


ANCESTORS 


MISS  THANGUE,  who  had  never  seen  her  friend's 
hand  tremble  among  the  teacups  before,  felt  an  edge 
on  her  mental  appetite,  stimulating  after  two  monotonous 
years  abroad.  It  was  several  minutes,  however,  before 
she  made  any  effort  to  relieve  her  curiosity,  for  of  all  her 
patron-friends  Victoria  Gwynne  required  the  most  delicate 
touch.  Flora  had  learned  to  be  audacious  without  taking  a 
liberty,  which,  indeed,  was  one  secret  of  her  success; 
but  although  she  prided  herself  upon  her  reading  of 
this  enigma,  whom  even  the  ancestral  darnes  of  Capheaton 
looked  down  upon  inspectively,  she  was  never  quite  sure 
of  her  ground.  She  particularly  wished  to  avoid  mistakes 
upon  the  renewal  of  an  intimacy  kept  alive  by  a  fitful 
correspondence  during  her  sojourn  on  the  Continent. 
Quite  apart  from  self-interest,  she  liked  no  one  as  well,  and 
her  curiosity  was  tempered  by  a  wrarm  sympathy  and  a 
genuine  interest.  It  was  this  capacity  for  friendship,  and 
her  unlimited  good-nature,  that  had  saved  her,  penniless 
as  she  was,  from  the  ignominious  footing  of  the  social 
parasite.  The  daughter  of  a  clergyman  in  a  Yorkshire 

3 


A     '  •#••':  .--C.:  i£,i-V>S..     r       O       £        S 

village,  and  the  playmate  in  childhood  of  the  little  girls  of 
the  castle  near  by,  she  had  realized  early  in  life  that  al 
though  pretty  and  well-bred,  she  was  yet  not  sufficiently 
dowered  by  either  nature  or  fortune  to  hope  for  a  brilliant 
marriage;  and  she  detested  poverty.  Upon  her  father's 
death  she  must  earn  her  bread,  and,  reasoning  that  self- 
support  was  merely  the  marketing  of  one's  essential 
commodity,  and  as  her  plump  and  indolent  body  was  dis 
inclined  to  privations  of  any  sort,  she  elected  the  role 
of  useful  friend  to  fashionable  and  luxurious  women.  It 
was  not  an  exalted  niche  to  fill  in  life,  but  at  least  she  had 
learned  to  fill  it  to  perfection,  and  her  ambitions  were 
modest.  Moreover,  a  certain  integrity  of  character  and 
girlish  enthusiasm  had  saved  her  from  the  more  corrosive 
properties  of  her  anomalous  position,  and  she  was  not 
only  clever  enough  to  be  frankly  useful  without  servility, 
but  she  had  become  so  indispensable  to  certain  of  her 
friends,  that  although  still  blooming  in  her  early  forties, 
she  would  no  more  have  deserted  them  for  a  mere  husband 
than  she  would  have  renounced  her  comfortable  and 
varied  existence  for  the  no  less  varied  uncertainties  of 
matrimony. 

It  was  not  often  that  a  kindly  fate  had  overlooked 
her  for  so  long  a  period  as  two  years,  and  when  she 
had  accepted  the  invitation  of  one  of  the  old  castle  play 
mates  to  visit  her  in  Florence,  it  had  been  with  a  lively 
anticipation  that  made  dismay  the  more  poignant  in  the 
face  of  hypochondria.  Nevertheless,  realizing  her  debt 
to  this  first  of  her  patrons,  and  with  much  of  her  old 
affection  revived,  she  wandered  from  one  capital  and 
specialist  to  the  next,  until  death  gave  her  liberty.  She 
was  not  unrewarded,  but  the  legacy  inspired  her  with  no 

4 


ANCESTORS 

desire  for  an  establishment  beyond  her  room  at  the 
Club  in  Dover  Street,  the  companionship  of  friends  not 
too  exacting,  the  agreeable  sense  of  indispensableness, 
and  a  certain  splendor  of  environment  which  gave  a 
warmth  and  color  to  life;  and  which  she  could  not 
have  commanded  had  she  set  up  in  middle  years  as  an 
independent  spinster  of  limited  income.  She  had  re 
ceived  many  impatient  letters  while  abroad,  to  which 
she  had  replied  with  fluent  affection  and  picturesque 
gossip,  never  losing  touch  for  a  moment.  When  release 
came  she  had  hastened  home  to  book  herself  for  the  house- 
parties,  and  with  Victoria  Gwynne,  although  one  of  the 
least  opulent  of  her  friends,  first  on  the  list.  She  had  had 
several  correspondents  as  ardent  as  herself,  and  there  was 
little  gossip  of  the  more  intimate  sort  that  had  not  reached 
her  sooner  or  later,  but  she  found  subtle  changes  in  Vic 
toria  for  which  she  could  not  as  yet  account.  She  had 
now  been  at  Capheaton  and  alone  with  her  friend  for  three 
days,  but  there  had  been  a  stress  of  duties  for  both,  and 
the  hostess  had  never  been  more  silent.  To-day,  as  she 
seemed  even  less  inclined  to  conversation,  although  mani 
festly  nervous,  Miss  Thangue  merely  drank  her  tea  with 
an  air  of  being  too  comfortable  and  happy  in  England  and 
Capheaton  for  intellectual  effort,  and  patiently  waited 
for  a  cue  or  an  inspiration.  But  although  she  too  kept 
silence,  memory  and  imagination  held  rendezvous  in  her 
circumspect  brain,  and  she  stole  more  than  one  furtive 
glance  at  her  companion. 

Lady  Victoria  Gwynne,  one  of  the  tallest  women  of  her 
time  and  still  one  of  the  handsomest,  had  been  extolled  all 
her  life  for  that  fusion  of  the  romantic  and  the  aristocratic 
ideals  that  so  rarely  find  each  other  in  the  same  shell;  and 

5 


A       N       C       E       S       T_ O       R       S 

loved  by  a  few.  Her  round  slender  figure,  supple  with 
exercise  and  ignorant  of  disease,  her  black  hair  and  eyes, 
the  utter  absence  of  color  in  her  smooth  Orientally  white 
skin,  the  mouth,  full  at  the  middle  and  curving  sharply 
upward  at  the  corners,  and  the  irregular  yet  delicate  nose 
that  seemed  presented  as  an  afterthought  to  save  that 
brilliant  and  subtle  face  from  classic  severity,  made  her 
look  —  for  the  most-  part  —  as  if  fashioned  for  the  pict 
ure-gallery  or  the  poem,  rather  than  for  the  common 
places  of  life.  Always  one  of  those  Englishwomen  that 
let  their  energy  be  felt  rather  than  expressed,  for  she  made 
no  effort  in  conversation  whatever,  her  once  mobile  face 
had  of  late  years,  without  aging,  composed  itself  into  a  sort 
of  illuminated  mask.  As  far  as  possible  removed  from 
that  other  ideal,  the  British  Matron,  and  still  suggesting 
an  untamed  something  in  the  complex  centres  of  her 
character,  she  yet  looked  so  aloof,  so  monumental,  that 
she  had  recently  been  painted  by  a  great  artist  for  a  world 
exhibition,  as  an  illustration  of  what  centuries  of  breeding 
and  selection  had  done  for  the  noblewomen  of  England. 

Some  years  before,  a  subtle  Frenchman  had  expressed 
her  in  such  a  fashion  that  while  many  vowed  he  had  given 
to  the  world  an  epitome  of  romantic  youth,  others  re 
marked  cynically  that  his  handsome  subject  looked  as  if 
about  to  seat  herself  on  the  corner  of  the  table  and  smoke 
a  cigarette.  The  American  artist,  although  habitually 
cruel  to  his  patrons,  had,  after  triumphantly  transferring 
the  type  to  the  canvas,  drawn  to  the  surface  only  so  much 
of  the  soul  of  the  woman  as  all  that  ran  might  admire. 
If  there  was  a  hint  of  bitterness  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
face,  from  the  eyes  there  looked  an  indomitable  courage 
and  much  sweetness.  Only  in  the  carriage  of  the  head, 

6 


A       N       C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

the  tilt  of  the  chin,  was  the  insolence  expressed  that  had 
made  her  many  enemies.  Some  of  the  wildest  stories  of 
the  past  thirty  years  had  been  current  about  her,  and  re 
jected  or  believed  according  to  the  mental  habit  or  per 
sonal  bias  of  those  that  tinker  with  reputations.  The  late 
Queen,  it  was  well  known,  had  detested  her,  and  made  no 
secret  of  her  resentment  that  through  the  short-sighted 
loyalty  of  one  of  the  first  members  of  her  Household,  the 
dangerous  creature  had  been  named  after  her.  But  what 
ever  her  secrets,  open  scandal  Lady  Victoria  had  avoided: 
imperturbably,  without  even  an  additional  shade  of  in 
solence,  never  apologizing  nor  explaining;  wherein,  no 
doubt,  lay  one  secret  of  her  strength.  And  then  her 
eminently  respectable  husband,  Arthur  Gwynne,  second 
son  of  the  Marquess  of  Strathland  and  Zeal,  had  always 
fondly  alluded  to  her  as  "The  Missus,"  and  lauded  her  as 
a  repository  of  all  the  unfashionable  virtues.  To-day, 
presiding  at  the  tea-table  in  her  son's  country-house,  an 
eager  light  in  her  eyes,  she  looked  like  neither  of  her  por 
traits:  more  nearly  approached,  perhaps,  poor  Arthur 
Gwynne's  ideal  of  her;  not  in  the  least  the  frozen  stoic  of 
the  past  three  days.  When  she  finally  made  an  uncon 
trollable  movement  that  half-overturned  the  cream-jug, 
Flora  Thangue's  curiosity  overcame  her,  and  she  mur 
mured,  tentatively: 

"  If  I  had  ever  seen  you  nervous  before,  Vicky — " 

"I  am  not  nervous,  but  allowances  are  to  be  made  for 
maternal  anxiety." 

"Oh!"  Miss  Thangue  drew  a  deep  breath.  She  con 
tinued,  vaguely,  "Oh,  the  maternal  role — 

"Have  I  ever  failed  as  a  mother?"  asked  Lady  Victoria, 
dispassionately. 

7 


A     _N_     C       E       S       T    J9 R_  _  S 

"No,  but  you  are  so  many  other  things,  too.  Somehow, 
when  I  am  away  from  you  I  see  you  in  almost  every  other 
capacity." 

"Jack  is  thirty  and  I  am  forty-nine." 

"You  look  thirty,"  replied  Flora,  with  equal  candor. 

"I  am  thankful  that  my  age  is  in  Lodge;  I  can  never  be 
tempted  to  enroll  myself  with  the  millions  that  were  mar 
ried  when  just  sixteen." 

"Oh,  you  never  could  make  a  fool  of  yourself,"  mur 
mured  her  friend.  Then,  as  Victoria  showed  signs  of  re 
lapsing  into  silence,  she  plunged  in  recklessly;  ''Jack  is 
bound  to  be  elected.  When  has  he  ever  failed  to  get  what 
he  wanted  ?  But  you,  Vicky  dear — is  there  anything 
wrong  ?  You  had  a  bulky  letter  from  California  the  day 
I  arrived.  I  do  hope  that  tiresome  property  is  not  giving 
you  trouble.  What  a  pity  it  is  such  a  long  way  off." 

"The  San  Francisco  lease  runs  out  shortly.  Half  of 
that,  and  the  southern  ranch,  are  my  only  independent 
sources  of  income.  The  northern  ranch  belongs  to  Jack. 
All  three  are  getting  less  and  less  easy  to  let  in  their  en 
tirety,  my  agents  wTrite  me,  and  I  feel  half  a  pauper  al 
ready." 

"This  is  not  so  bad,"  murmured  Flora. 

"Strathland  would  bundle  me  out  in  ten  minutes  if 
anything  happened  to  Jack." 

"It  would  be  a  pity;  it  suits  you."  She  was  not  re 
ferring  to  the  hall,  which  was  somewhat  too  light  and  small 
for  the  heroic  mould  of  its  chatelaine,  but  to  the  noble 
proportions  of  the  old  house  itself,  and  the  treasures  that 
had  accumulated  since  the  first  foundations  were  laid  in> 
the  reign  of  Henry  VI.  There  were  rooms  hung  with 
ugly  brocades  and  velvets  never  duplicated,  state  bed- 

8 


ANCESTORS 

chambers  and  boudoirs  sacred  to  the  memory  of  personages 
whose  dust  lay  half-forgotten  in  their  marbles;  but  above 
all,  Capheaton  was  famous  for  its  pictures.  Not  only  was 
there  an  unusually  large  number  of  portraits  by  masters 
scattered  about  the  twenty  rooms  that  lay  behind  and  on 
either  side  of  the  hall,  but  many  hundreds  of  those  por 
traits  and  landscapes  from  the  brushes  of  artists  fashion 
able  in  their  day,  unknown  in  the  annals  of  art,  but 
seeming  to  emit  a  faint  scent  of  lavender  and  rose  leaves 
from  the  walls  of  England's  old  manor-houses  and  castles. 
In  the  dining-room  there  was  a  full-length  portrait  of  Mary 
Tudor,  black  but  for  the  yellow  face  and  hands  and  ruff; 
and  another,  the  scarlet  coat  and  robust  complexion  still 
fresh,  of  the  fourth  George,  handsome,  gay,  devil-may- 
care;  both  painted  to  commemorate  visits  to  Capheaton, 
historically  hospitable  in  the  past.  But  Lord  Strathland, 
besides  having  been  presented  with  six  daughters  and  an 
heir  as  extravagant  as  tradition  demanded,  was  poor  as 
peers  go,  and  had  more  than  once  succumbed  to  the 
titillating  delights  of  speculation,  less  cheering  in  the  ret 
rospect.  Having  a  still  larger  estate  to  keep  up,  he  had 
been  glad  to  lend  Capheaton  to  his  second  son,  who, 
being  an  excellent  manager  and  assisted  by  his  wife's  in 
come,  had  lived  very  comfortably  upon  its  yield.  Upon 
his  death  Elton  Gwynne  had  assumed  possession  as  a 
matter  of  course;  and  a  handsome  allowance  from  his 
doting  grandfather  supplementing  his  inheritance,  the 
mind  of  the  haughty  and  promising  young  gentleman 
was  free  of  sordid  anxieties. 

Lady  Victoria's  satirical  gaze  swept  the  simpering  por 
traits  of  her  son's  great-aunts  and  grandmothers,  with 
which  the  hall  was  promiscuously  hung. 

9 


ANCESTORS 

"Of  course  I  am  as  English  as  if  the  strain  had  never 
been  crossed,  if  you  mean  that.  But  I'd  rather  like  to 
get  away  for  a  while.  I  really  ought  to  visit  my  California 
estates,  and  I  have  always  wanted  to  see  that  part  of 
America.  I  started  for  it  once,  but  never  even  reached 
the  western  boundaries  of  New  York.  One  of  us  should 
spend  a  year  there,  at  least;  and  of  course  it  is  out  of  the 
question  for  Jack  to  leave  England  again." 

"You  would  not  spend  six  months  out  of  Curzon  Street. 
You  are  the  most  confirmed  Londoner  I  know." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

Miss  Thangue  replied,  impulsively,  "I  have  often  won 
dered  if  you  numbered  satiety  among  your  complex 
ities!" 

This  was  as  far  as  she  had  ever  adventured  into  the 
mysterious  backwaters  of  Victoria's  soul,  and  she  dropped 
her  eyelids  lest  a  deprecating  glance  meet  the  contempt  it 
deserved;  both  with  a  due  regard  for  the  limit  imposed  by 
good  taste,  despised  the  faint  heart. 

"I  hate  the  sight  of  London!"  Her  tone  had  changed 
so  suddenly  that  Flora  winked.  "If  it  were  not  for  Jack 
I  would  leave — get  out.  I  am  sick  of  the  whole  game." 

"Oh,  be  on  your  guard,"  cried  her  friend,  sharply. 
"That  sort  of  thing  means  the  end  of  youth." 

"Youth  after  fifty  depends  upon  your  doctor,  your 
masseuse,  and  your  dressmaker.  I  do  not  say  that  my 
present  state  of  mind  is  sown  with  evergreens  and  im 
mortelles,  but  the  fact  remains  that  for  the  present  I  have 
come  to  the  end  of  myself  and  am  interested  in  no  one  on 
earth  but  Jack." 

Miss  Thangue  stared  into  her  teacup,  recalling  the 
gossip  of  a  year  ago,  although  she  had  given  it  little  heed 

10 


A       N       C ^_^__^__2 *_     S 

at  the  time:  Victoria  had  been  transiently  interested  so 
often!  But  all  the  world  knew  that  when  Arthur  Gwynne 
was  killed  Sir  Cadge  Vanneck  had  been  off  his  head  about 
Victoria;  and  that  when  obvious  restrictions  vanished  into 
the  family  vault  he  had  left  abruptly  for  Rhodesia  to 
develop  his  mines,  and  had  not  found  time  to  return  since. 
Sir  Cadge  was  about  the  same  age  as  the  famous  beauty, 
and  rose  quite  two  inches  above  her  lofty  head.  People 
had  grown  accustomed  to  the  fine  appearance  they  made 
when  together — '"Artie"  was  ruddy  and  stout — and  al 
though  Victoria  reinforced  her  enemies,  for  Vanneck  was 
one  of  the  most  agreeable  and  accomplished  men  in  Lon 
don,  the  artistic  sense  of  that  lenient  world  was  tickled  at 
their  congruities  and  took  their  future  mating  for  granted; 
Arthur  Gwynne  was  sure  to  meet  his  death  on  the  hunting- 
field,  for  he  was  far  too  heavy  for  a  horse  and  rode  vilely. 
When  he  fulfilled  his  destiny  and  Vanneck  fled,  the  world 
was  as  much  annoyed  as  amused.  But  they  were  amused, 
and  Flora  Thangue  knew  that  this  gall  must  have  bitten 
deeper  than  the  loss  of  Vanneck,  who  may  or  may  not  have 
made  an  impression  on  this  woman  too  proud  and  too 
spoiled  to  accept  homage  in  public  otherwise  than  passive 
ly,  whatever  may  have  been  the  unwritten  tale  of  her  secret 
hours.  The  excuses  hazarded  by  Vanneck's  friends  were 
neither  humorous  nor  sentimental,  but  no  one  denied  that 
they  were  eminently  sensible:  his  first  wife  had  died  child 
less,  his  estates  were  large,  his  title  was  one  of  the  oldest  in 
England.  But  although  no  one  pitied  Victoria  Gwynne, 
many  were  annoyed  at  having  their  mental  attitude  dis 
arranged,  and  this  no  doubt  had  kept  the  gossip  alive 
and  been  a  constant  source  of  irritation  to  a  woman 
whose  sense  of  humor  was  as  deep  as  her  pride. 
1  II 


^ N__     C    JZ S_  ^T_     O       R       S 

Flora  replied  at  random.  "Jack  couldn't  very  well  get 
on  without  you." 

His  mother's  eyes  flashed.  "I  flatter  myself  he  could 
not — at  present.  If  Julia  Kaye  would  only  marry  him!" 

"She  won't,"  cried  Flora,  relieved  at  the  change  of  tone. 
"And  why  do  you  wish  it?  She  is  two  years  older,  of 
quite  dreadful  origin — and — well — I  don't  like  her;  per 
haps  my  opinion  is  a  little  biased." 

"She  is  immensely  rich,  one  of  the  ablest  political 
women  in  London,  and  Jack  is  desperately  in  love  with 
her." 

"I  cannot  picture  Jack  in  extremities  about  any  one, 
although  I  don't  deny  that  he  has  his  sentimental  seizures. 
He  even  made  love  to  me  when  he  was  cutting  his  teeth. 
But  he  doesn't  need  a  lot  of  money,  you  rank  higher  than 
she  among  the  political  women,  and — well,  I  believe  her  to 
be  bad-tempered,  and  more  selfish  than  any  woman  I 
have  ever  known." 

"He  loves  her.  He  wants  her.  He  would  dominate 
any  woman  he  married.  He  is  such  a  dear  that  no  woman 
who  lived  with  him  could  help  loving  him.  Moreover,  she 
is  inordinately  ambitious,  and  Jack's  career  is  the  most 
promising  in  England." 

"Jack  is  far  too  good  for  her,  and  I  am  glad  that  he  will 
not  get  her.  I  happen  to  know  that  she  has  made  up  her 
mind  to  marry  Lord  Brathland." 

"Bratty  is  a  donkey." 

"She  would  be  the  last  to  deny  it,  but  he  is  certain  to  be 
a  duke  if  he  lives,  and  she  would  marry  a  man  that  had 
to  be  led  round  with  a  string  for  the  sake  of  being  called 
'your  grace'  by  the  servants.  She'll  never  be  anything 
but  a  third-rate  duchess,  and  people  that  tolerate  her  now 

12 


A       N      C      E       S      T       O       R       S 

will  snub  her  the  moment  she  gives  herself  airs.  But  I 
suppose  she  thinks  a  duchess  is  a  duchess." 

"Money  goes  pretty  far  with  us,"  said  Lady  Victoria, 
dryly. 

"Doesn't  it  ?  Nevertheless — you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do 
— among  the  people  that  really  count  other  things  go  fur 
ther,  and  duchesses  have  been  put  in  their  place  before 
this — you  have  done  it  yourself.  Julia  Kaye  has  kept 
her  head  so  far  because  she  has  been  hunting  for  straw 
berry  leaves,  and  there  is  no  denying  she's  clever;  but 
once  she  is  in  the  upper  air — well,  I  have  seen  her  as 
rude  as  she  dares  be,  and  if  she  became  a  duchess  she 
would  cultivate  rudeness  as  part  of  the  role." 

"We  can  be  rude  enough." 

"Yes,  and  know  how  to  be.     A  parvenu  never   does." 

"She  is  astonishingly  clever." 

"Duchesses  are  born — even  the  American  ones.  Julia 
Kaye  has  never  succeeded  in  being  quite  natural;  she  has 
always  the  effect  of  rehearsing  the  part  of  the  great  lady 
for  amateur  theatricals.  Poor  Gussy  Kaye  might  have 
coached  her  better.  The  moment  she  mounts  she'll  be 
come  wholly  artificial,  she'll  patronize,  she'll  give  herself 
no  end  of  ridiculous  airs;  she  won't  move  without  sending 
a  paragraph  to  the  Morning  Post.  The  back  of  her  head 
will  be  quite  in  line  with  her  charming  little  bust,  and  I  for 
one  shall  walk  round  and  laugh  in  her  face.  She  is  the 
only  person  that  could  inspire  me  to  such  a  vicious  speech, 
but  I  am  human,  and  as  she  so  ingenuously  snubs  me  as  a 
person  of  no  consequence,  my  undazzled  eyes  see  her  as 
she  is." 

Lady  Victoria,  instead  of  responding  with  the  faint, 
absent,  somewhat  irritating  smile  which  she  commonly 


ANCESTORS 

vouchsafed  those  that  sought  to  amuse  her,  lit  another 
cigarette  and  leaned  back  among  the  cushions  of  the  sofa 
behind  the  tea-table.  She  drew  her  eyelids  together,  a 
rare  sign  of  perturbation.  The  only  stigma  of  time  on 
her  face  was  a  certain  sharpness  of  outline  and  leanness 
of  throat.  But  the  throat  was  always  covered,  and  her 
wardrobe  reflected  the  most  fleeting  of  the  fashions,  assur 
ing  her  position  as  a  contemporary,  if  driving  her  dress 
maker  to  the  verge  of  bankruptcy.  When  her  bright, 
black,  often  laughing  eyes  were  in  play  she  passed  with  the 
casual  public,  and  abroad,  as  a  woman  of  thirty,  but  with 
her  lids  down  the  sharpness  of  the  lower  part  of  the  face 
arrested  the  lover  of  detail. 

"Are  you  sure  of  that  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  moment. 

"Quite." 

"I  am  sorry.  It  will  be  a  great  blow  to  Jack.  I  hoped 
she  would  come  round  in  time." 

"She  will  marry  Brathland.  I  saw  Cecilia  Spence  in 
town.  She  was  at  Maundrell  Abbey  with  them  both  last 
week.  You  may  expect  the  announcement  any  day — 
she'll  write  it  herself  for  the  Morning  Post.  How  on  earth 
can  Jack  find  time  to  think  about  women  with  the  immense 
amount  of  work  he  gets  through  ? — and  his  really  immodest 
ambitions!  By-the-way — isn't  this  polling-day?  I  won 
der  if  he  has  won  his  seat  ?  But  as  I  said  just  now  I  do 
not  associate  Jack  with  defeat.  His  trifling  set-backs  have 
merely  served  to  throw  his  manifest  destiny  into  higher 
relief." 

"The  telegram  should  have  come  an  hour  ago.  I  have 
few  doubts — and  yet  he  has  so  many  enemies.  I  wonder 
if  we  shall  be  born  into  a  world,  after  we  have  been  suf 
ficiently  chastened  here,  where  one  can  get  one's  head 

H 


A       N      C       E       S       T_      O     _R_   _S 

above  the  multitude  without  rousing  some  of  the  most 
hideous  qualities  in  human  nature  ?  It  is  a  great  re 
sponsibility!  But  there  has  been  no  such  speaker,  nor 
fighter,  for  a  quarter  of  a  century."  Her  eyes  glowed 
again.  "And  heaven  knows  I  have  worked  for  him." 

"What  a  pity  he  is  not  a  Tory!  He  could  have  a 
dozen  boroughs  for  the  asking.  I  wish  he  were.  The 
whole  Liberal  party  makes  me  sick.  And  it  is  against 
every  tradition  of  his  family — 

"As  if  that  mattered.  Besides,  he  is  a  born  fighter. 
He'd  hate  anything  he  could  have  for  the  asking.  And 
he's  far  too  modern,  too  progressive,  for  the  Conservative 
party — even  if  there  were  anything  but  blue-mould  left 
in  it." 

"Well,  you  know  I  am  not  original,  and  my  poor  old 
dad  brought  us  up  on  the  soundest  Tory  principles;  he 
never  would  even  compromise  on  the  word  Conservative. 
But  considering  that  Jack  is  as  Liberal  as  if  the  taint  were 
in  the  marrow  of  his  bones,  what  a  blessing  that  poor  Artie 
did  not  happen  to  be  the  oldest  son.  Cecilia  says  they 
were  all  talking  of  it  at  Maundrell  Abbey,  where  of  course 
it  is  a  peculiarly  interesting  topic.  That  ornamental  and 
conscientious  peer,  Lord  Barnstable,  has  never  ceased  to 
regret  his  father's  death,  for  reasons  far  removed  from 
sentimental.  He  told  Cecilia  that  Lord  Strathland  almost 
confessed  to  him  that  he  would  give  his  right  eye  to  hand 
over  his  old  shoes  to  Jack,  not  only  because  he  detests  Zeal, 
but  because  it  would  take  the  backbone  out  of  his  Liber 
alism—" 

"And  ruin  his  career.  Thank  heaven  Zeal  is  engaged 
at  last.  They  will  marry  in  the  spring,  and  then  the  only 
cloud  on  Jack's  horizon  will  vanish." 

15 


ANCESTORS 

"What  if  there  were  no  children  ?" 

"There  are  so  much  more  often  than  not — that  is  the 
least  of  my  worries.  Fie  had  five  girls  by  his  first  wife; 
there  is  no  reason  why  this  splendid  cow  I  have  picked 
out  should  not  produce  a  dozen  boys.  I  never  worked  so 
hard  over  one  of  Jack's  elections — not  only  to  overcome 
Zeal's  misogyny,  which  he  calls  scruples,  but  I  had  to 
fight  Strathland  every  inch  of  the  way.  When  I  think  of 
Jack's  desperation  if  he  were  pitchforked  up  into  the 
Peers — you  do  not  know  him  as  I  do." 

"Well,  he  is  safe  for  a  time,  I  fancy.  There  has  been 
consumption  in  the  family  before,  and  always  the  slowest 
sort—" 

A  footman  entered  with  a  yellow  envelope  on  a  tray. 

Lady  Victoria  opened  it  without  haste  or  change  of 
color. 

"Jack  is  returned,"  she  said. 

"How  jolly,"  replied  the  other,  with  equal  indifference 


II 


YOU  look  tired — I  will  take  you  up  to  your  room. 
Vicky  has  so  many  on  her  hands." 

The  American  rose  slowly,  but  with  a  flash  of  gratitude 
in  her  eyes. 

"I  am  tired,  and  I  don't  know  a  soul  here.  I  almost 
wish  Lady  Victoria  had  not  asked  me  down,  although  I 
have  wanted  all  my  life  to  visit  one  of  the  ancestral  homes 
of  England." 

"Oh,  you'll  get  over  that,  and  used  to  us,"  said  Miss 
Thangue,  smiling.  "Your  staircase  is  behind  this  door, 
and  we  can  slip  out  without  attracting  attention.  They 
are  all  gabbling  over  Jack's  election." 

She  opened  a  door  in  a  corner  of  the  hall  where  the 
newly  arrived  guests  were  gathered  about  Lady  Victoria's 
tea-table,  and  led  the  way  up  a  wide  dark  and  slippery 
stair.  After  the  first  landing  the  light  was  stronger,  and 
the  walls  were,  to  an  inch,  covered  with  portraits  and 
landscapes,  the  effect  almost  as  careless  as  if  the  big  open 
space  were  a  lumber-room. 

"Are  they  all  old  masters?"  asked  Miss  Isabel  Otis, 
politely,  her  eyes  roving  over  the  dark  canvases. 

"Oh  no;  the  masters  are  down-stairs.  I'll  show  them 
to  you  to-morrow.  These  are  not  bad,  though." 

"What  a  lot  of  ancestors  to  have!" 

"Oh,  you'll  find  them  all  over  the  house.     These  are 


ANCESTORS 

not  Gwynnes.  This  house  came  to  Lord  Strathland 
through  the  female  line.  It  will  be  Jack's  eventually — 
one  way  or  another;  and  Jack  must  be  more  like  the 
Eltons  than  the  Gwynnes — unless,  indeed,  he  is  like  his 
American  ancestors."  She  turned  her  soft  non-committal 
eyes  on  the  stranger.  "You  are  his  thirty-first  cousin,  are 
you  not  ?" 

"Not  quite  so  remote.  But  why  do  you  call  him  Jack  ? 
He  is  known  to  fame  as  Elton  Gwynne." 

"His  name  is  John  Elton  Cecil  Gwynne.  We  are 
given  to  the  nickname  these  days — to  the  abbreviation  in 
general." 

They  were  walking  down  a  corridor,  and  Miss  Thangue 
was  peering  through  her  lorgnette  at  the  cards  on  the 
doors. 

"I  know  you  are  on  this  side.  I  wrote  your  name  my 
self.  But  exactly  where — ah,  here  it  is." 

She  opened  the  door  of  a  square  room  with  large  roses 
on  the  white  wall-paper,  and  fine  old  mahogany  furniture. 
The  sofa  and  chairs  and  windows  were  covered  with  a 
chintz  in  harmony  with  the  walls.  "It  is  cheerful,  don't 
you  think  so  ?"  asked  Miss  Thangue,  drawing  one  of  the 
straight  curtains  aside.  "Vicky  had  all  the  rooms  done 
over,  and  I  chose  the  designs.  She  is  quite  intolerantly 
modern,  and  holds  that  when  wall-paper  and  chintz  can 
save  an  old  house  from  looking  like  a  sarcophagus,  why 
not  have  them  ?  That  bell-cord  connects  with  your  maid's 
room — " 

"I  have  no  maid.  I  am  not  well  off  at  all.  I  wTonder 
Lady  Victoria  thought  it  worth  while  to  ask  me  down." 

"Dear  me,  how  odd!  May  I  sit  with  you  a  little  while  ? 
I  never  before  saw  a  poor  American  girl." 

18 


^L  ^L.  _*L  ——  ——  T    °    R     s 

"I'll  he  only  too  grateful  if  you  will  stay  with  me  as  long 
as  you  can.  I  am  not  exactly  poor.  I  have  a  ranch  near 
Rosewater,  some  property  and  an  old  house  in  San 
Francisco.  All  that  makes  me  comfortable,  but  no 
more;  and  there  are  so  many  terribly  rich  American 
girls!" 

"There  are,  indeed!"  Miss  Thangue  sat  forward  with 
the  frank  curiosity  of  the  Englishwoman  when  inspecting 
a  foreign  specimen.  But  her  curiosity  was  kindly,  for 
she  was  still  a  girl  at  heart,  interested  in  other  girls.  Miss 
Otis,  looking  at  her  blond,  virginal  face,  took  for  granted 
that  she  was  under  thirty,  and  owed  her  weight  to  a  fond 
ness  for  sweets  and  sauces. 

"How  can  you  travel  in  Europe  if  you  are  not  rich?" 
demanded  Flora.  "I  never  dare  venture  over  except  as 
the  guest  of  some  more  fortunate  friend." 

"Are  you  poor?"  asked  Miss  Otis,  her  eye  arrested  by 
the  smart  little  afternoon  frock  of  lace  and  chiffon  and 
crepe-de-chine. 

"Oh,  horribly.  But  then  we  all  are,  over  here.  If  it 
were  not  for  the  Jews  and  the  Americans  we'd  have  to 
make  our  own  clothes.  The  dressmakers  never  could 
afford  to  give  us  credit." 

"They  all  looked  very  wealthy  down-stairs/' 

"Smart,  rather.  This  happens  to  be  a  set  that  knows 
how  to  dress.  Many  don't.  You  know  something  of  it 
yourself,"  she  added,  with  a  frank  survey  of  the  girl's 
well-cut  travelling-frock  and  small  hat.  "Lots  of  Amer 
icans  don't,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so — for  all  their 
reputation.  I  went  to  a  dinner  at  an  American  Legation 
once  and  two  of  your  countrywomen  came  with  their  hats 
on.  They  had  brought  letters  to  the  Minister,  and  he 

'9 


ANCESTORS 

hadn't  taken  the  precaution  of  looking  them  over.  He  was 
terribly  mortified,  poor  thing." 

She  related  the  anecdote  with  philanthropic  intention, 
but  Miss  Otis  put  her  half-rejected  doubts  to  flight  by 
remarking,  lightly: 

"We  don't  do  that  even  in  Rosewater." 

"Where  is  Rosewater  ?     What  a  jolly  name!" 

"It  is  in  northern  California,  not  far  from  Lady  Vic 
toria's  ranch  and  what  is  left  of  ours.  I  have  spent  most 
of  my  life  in  or  near  it — my  father  was  a  lawyer." 

"Do  tell  me  about  yourself!"  Like  most  amiable 
spinsters,  she  was  as  interested  in  the  suggestive  stranger 
as  in  a  new  novel.  She  sank  with  a  sigh  of  comfort  into 
the  depths  of  the  chair.  "May  I  smoke?  Are  you 
shocked  ?" 

Then  she  colored  apprehensively,  fearing  that  her 
doubt  might  be  construed  as  an  insult  to  Rosewater. 

But  Miss  Otis  met  it  with  her  first  smile.  "Oh  no," 
she  replied.  "Will  you  give  me  one  ?  Mine  are  in  my 
trunk  and  they  haven't  brought  it  up."  She  took  a 
cigarette  from  the  gayly  tendered  case  and  smoked  for  a 
few  moments  in  silence. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  be  interested  in  my 
history,"  she  said  at  last  in  her  slow  cold  voice,  so  strik 
ingly  devoid  of  the  national  animation.  "It  has  been  far 
too  uneventful.  I  have  an  adopted  sister,  six  years  older 
than  myself,  who  married  twelve  years  ago.  Her  hus 
band  is  an  artist  in  San  Francisco,  rather  a  genius,  so  they 
are  always  poor.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  little. 
After  my  sister  married  I  took  care  of  my  father  until  I 
was  twenty-one,  when  he  died — four  years  ago.  There 
are  very  good  schools  in  Rosewater,  particularly  the  High 

20 


ANCESTORS 

School.  My  father  also  taught  me  languages.  He  had 
a  very  fine  library.  But  I  do  not  believe  this  interests  you. 
Doubtless  you  want  to  know  something  of  the  life  with 
which  Lady  Victoria  is  so  remotely  connected." 

"I  am  far  more  interested  in  you.  Tell  me  whichever 
you  like  first.  How  are  you  related,  by-the-way  ?" 

"Father  used  to  draw  our  family  tree  whenever  he  had 
bronchitis  in  winter.  One  of  the  most  famous  of  the 
Spanish  Californians  was  Don  Jose  Argiiello.  We  are 
descended  from  one  of  his  sons,  who  had  a  ranch  of  a 
hundred  thousand  acres  in  the  south.  When  the  Amer 
icans  came,  long  after,  they  robbed  the  Californians  shame 
fully,  but  fortunately  the  son  of  the  Arguello  that  owned 
the  ranch  at  the  time  married  an  American  girl  whose 
father  bought  up  the  mortgages.  He  left  the  property 
to  his  only  grandchild,  a  girlj  who  married  my  great 
grandfather,  James  Otis — a  northern  rancher,  born  in 
Boston,  and  descended  from  old  Sam  Adams.  He  had 
two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  who  inherited  the  northern 
and  southern  ranches  in  equal  shares.  The  girl  came  over 
to  England  to  visit  an  aunt  who  lived  here,  was  presented 
at  court,  and  straightway  married  a  lord." 

"Then  you  are  second  cousin  to  Vicky  and  third  to 
Jack.  I  had  no  idea  the  relationship  was  so  close.'1 

"It  has  seemed  very  remote  to  me  ever  since  I  laid  eyes 
on  Lady  Victoria  down-stairs.  Father  made  me  promise, 
just  before  he  died,  that  if  ever  I  visited  Europe  I  would 
look  her  up.  Somehow  I  hadn't  thought  of  her  except  as 
Elton  Gwynne's  mother,  so  I  wrote  to  her  without  a  qualm. 
But  I  see  that  she  is  an  individual." 

"Rather!  How  self-contained  our  great  London  is, 
after  all!  Vicky  has  been  a  beauty  for  over  thirty  years — 

21 


A     _N__C_     E^    S       T    _O R S 

to  be  sure  her  fame  was  at  its  height  before  you  were  old 
enough  to  be  interested  in  such  things.  But  I  should 
have  thought  your  father — 

"He  must  have  known  all  about  her.  It  comes  back 
to  me  that  he  was  very  proud  of  the  connection  for  more 
than  family  reasons,  but  it  made  no  impression  on  me  at 
the  time." 

"Proud?" 

"Yes,  he  was  rather  a  snob.  He  was  very  clever,  but 
he  fell  out  of  things,  and  being  able  to  dwell  on  his  English 
and  Spanish  connections  meant  a  good  deal  to  him.  I 
can  recite  the  family  history  backwards." 

"But  if  he  was  clever,  why  on  earth  did  he  live  in  Rose- 
water  ?  Surely  he  could  have  practised  in  San  Francisco  ?" 

"He  drank.  When  a  man  drinks  he  doesn't  care  much 
where  he  lives.  My  father  had  fads  but  no  ambition." 

"Great  heaven!"  exclaimed  Miss  Thangue,  aghast  at 
this  toneless  frankness.  "You  must  have  been  glad  to 
be  rid  of  him!" 

"I  was  fond  of  him,  but  his  death  was  a  great  relief. 
He  \vas  a  hard  steady  secret  drinker.  I  nursed  him 
through  several  attacks  of  delirium  tremens,  and  was 
always  in  fear  that  he  would  get  out  and  disgrace  us. 
Sometimes  he  did,  although  when  I  saw  the  worst  coming 
I  generally  managed  to  get  him  over  to  the  ranch.  Of 
course  it  tied  me  down.  I  rarely  even  visited  my  sister. 
My  father  hated  San  Francisco.  He  had  practised  there 
in  his  youth,  promised  great  things,  had  plenty  of  money. 
The  time  came —  She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  although 
without  the  slightest  change  of  expression.  "I  never  lived 
my  own  life  until  he  died,  but  I  have  lived  it  ever  since." 

"And  the  first  thing  you  did  with  your  liberty  was  to 
22 


A       N      C       E    _S_J^_O       R       S 

come  to  Europe,"  said  Miss  Thangue,  with  a  sympathetic 
smile. 

"Of  course.  My  father  and  uncle  had  got  rid  of  most 
of  their  property  long  before  they  died;  there  isn't  an  acre 
left  of  our  share  in  the  southern  estate.  But  my  uncle 
died  six  years  ago  and  willed  me  all  that  remained  of  the 
northern,  as  well  as  some  land  in  the  poorer  quarter  of 
San  Francisco.  I  could  not  touch  the  principal  during 
the  lifetime  of  my  father,  but  we  lived  on  the  ranch  and  I 
managed  it  and  was  entitled,  by  the  terms  of  the  will,  to 
what  I  could  make  it  yield.  When  I  was  finally  mistress 
of  my  fortunes  I  left  it  in  charge  of  an  old  servant,  sold 
enough  to  pay  off  the  mortgage  on  a  property  in  San 
Francisco  I  inherited  from  my  mother,  and  came  to 
Europe  with  a  personally  conducted  tour." 

Miss  Thangue  shuddered.  The  phrase  unrolled  a 
vista  of  commonness  and  attrition.  Miss  Otis  continued, 
calmly:  "That  is  the  way  I  should  feel  now.  But  it  was 
my  only  chance  then;  or  rather  I  had  seen  enough  of  busi 
ness  to  avoid  making  mistakes  when  I  could.  In  that  way 
I  learned  the  ropes.  After  we  had  been  rushed  about  for 
six  weeks  and  I  could  not  have  told  you  whether  the 
Pitti  Palace  was  in  Italy  or  France,  and  the  celebrated 
frescos  were  one  vast  pink  smudge,  the  party  returned  and 
I  wandered  on  by  myself.  I  spent  a  winter  in  Paris,  and 
months  in  Brittany,  Austria,  Italy,  Spain — Munich."  It 
was  here  that  her  even  tones  left  their  register  for  a  second. 
"I  studied  the  languages,  the  literatures,  the  peoples, 
music,  pictures.  In  Munich" — this  time  Flora's  alert  ear 
detected  no  vibration — "and  also  in  Rome,  I  saw  some 
thing  of  society.  It  was  a  life  full  of  freedom,  and  I  shall 
never  cease  to  be  grateful  for  it,  but  I  must  go  home  soon 

23 


A       N      C       E S__T_ O__R S 

and  look  after  my  affairs.  I  left  England  to  the  last,  like 
the  best  things  of  the  banquet.  I  hope  Lady  Victoria — I 
shall  never  be  able  to  call  her  Cousin  Victoria,  as  I  re 
member  father  did — will  be  nice  to  me.  I  have  seen  a 
good  deal  of  life,  but  have  never  had  a  real  girl's  time,  and 
I  should  love  it.  Besides,  I  have  a  lot  of  new  frocks." 

"I  am  sure  Vicky  will  be  nice  to  you.  If  she  isn't,  I'll 
find  some  one  that  will  be.  You  might  marry  Jack  if  you 
had  money  enough.  We  are  dying  to  get  him  married — 
and  a  California  cousin — it  would  be  too  romantic.  And 
you  would  hold  your  own  anywhere!" 

But  Miss  Otis  expanded  a  fine  nostril.  "I  have  no 
desire  to  marry.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  had  enough  of  men  to 
last  until  I  am  forty — what  with  those  I  have  buried,  and 
others  I  have  known  at  home  and  in  Europe — to  say  noth 
ing  of  the  executors  of  my  uncle's  will,  who  did  not  approve 
of  my  coming  abroad  alone  and  delayed  the  settlement  of 
the  estate  as  long  as  possible.  And  now  I  have  had  too 
much  liberty!  Besides,  I  have  seen  'Jack's'  picture — 
two  years  ago,  in  a  magazine.  I  will  confess  I  had  some 
romantic  notions  about  him:  imagined  him  very  dash 
ing,  bold,  handsome;  insolent,  if  you  like — the  traditional 
young  aristocrat,  glorified  by  genius.  He  looks  like  Uncle 
Hiram." 

"Is  that  who  Jack  looks  like?  We  never  could  make 
out.  No,  Jack  is  not  much  to  look  at,  except  when  he 
wakes  up — I  have  seen  him  quite  transfigured  on  the 
platform.  But  he  is  as  insolent  as  you  could  wish,  and  has 
a  superb  confidence  in  himself  that  his  enemies  call  by  the 
most  offensive  names.  But  he  is  a  dear,  in  spite  of  all, 
and  I  quite  adore  him." 

"Perhaps;    but    life,    myself,    so    many   mysteries    and 
24 


ANCESTORS 

problems,  upon  which  I  have  barely  turned  a  dark  lantern 
as  yet,  interest  me  far  more  than  any  man  could,  unless 
he  were  superlative.  I  have  had  my  disillusions." 

She  lit  another  cigarette,  and  for  a  few  moments  looked 
silently  out  of  the  window  at  the  darkening  woods  beyond 
the  lawn.     Flora  Thangue  regarded  her  with  a  swelling 
interest.     It  was  a  type  of  which  she  had  no  knowledge, 
evidently  not  a  common  type  even  in  the  hypothetical  land 
of  the   free;   she   had   visited   New    York    and    Newport 
and  known  many  Americans.     True,  she  had  never  met 
the  provincial  type  before,  but  she  doubted  if  Rosewater 
had  produced  a  crop  of  Isabel  Otises.     What  was  at  the 
source  of  that  cold-blooded  frankness,  so  different  from 
the    English    fashion    of    alternately    speaking    out    and 
knowing  nothing  ?     Was  she  merely  an  egoist — it  ran  in 
the  family — or  did  it  conceal  much  that  she  had  no  in 
tention   of  revealing  ?     Her  very  beauty  was   of  a   type 
rarely  seen  in  the  America  of  to-day,  prevalent  as  it  may 
have  been  a  hundred  years  ago:  she  looked  like  a  feminine 
edition  of  the  first  group  of  American  statesmen — although 
black   Spanish   hair  was   pulled   carelessly  over  the   high 
forehead,  a  heavy  coil  encircling  the  head  in  a  long  upward 
sweep,  and  the  half-dreaming,  half-penetrating  regard  of 
the   light-blue   eyes  was   softened   by  a  heavy  growth   of 
lash.     The  eyebrows  were   low  and   thick,  the  upper  lip 
was  sensitive,  quivering  sometimes  as  she  talked,  but  the 
lower  was  firm  and  full.     It  was   the   brow,  the   profile, 
the  strength  of  character   expressed,  the   general  serious 
ness  of  the  fine  face  and  head,  that  made  her  look  like  a 
reversion   to  the   type  that  gave  birth  to  a  nation.     But 
Miss  Thangue  had  seen  too  much  of  the  world  to  judge 
any  one  by  his  inherited  shell.     She  had  observed  many 

25 


ANCESTORS 

Americans  with  fine  heads  and  bulging  brows  concealing 
practically  nothing,  insignificant  German  heads  whose 
intellects  had  terrified  her,  the  romantic  Spanish  eyes  of 
the  most  unromantic  people  in  Europe,  English  pride  and 
an  icy  mask  of  breeding  guarding  from  the  casual  eye  the 
most  lawless  and  ribald  instincts.  Therefore  had  she  no 
intention  of  taking  this  new  specimen  on  trust,  much  as 
she  liked  her,  and  she  speculated  upon  her  possibilities 
in  the  friendly  silence  that  had  fallen  between  them. 
Life  is  composed  of  individuals  and  their  choruses,  and 
Flora,  humorously  admitting  the  fact,  was  far  more  in 
terested  in  others  than  in  herself. 

Only  in  the  dense  silky  masses  of  her  black  hair  and  the 
almost  stolid  absence  of  gesture  did  the  American  betray 
her  Spanish  ancestry;  but  how  much  of  the  Spaniard, 
subtle,  patient,  vengeful,  treacherous,  mighty  in  passive 
resistance  and  cunning,  lay  behind  those  deep  fearless 
blue  eyes  of  her  New  England  ancestors  ?  Or  was  she  not 
Spanish  at  all,  but  merely  a  higher  type  of  American — or 
wholly  herself?  Would  Jack,  susceptible  and  passionate, 
a  worshipper  of  beauty  down  among  the  roots  of  his 
abnormal  cleverness  and  egoism,  fall  in  love  with  her? 
And  what  then  ?  The  girl,  with  her  strong  stern  profile 
against  the  shadows,  her  low  brooding  brows,  might  wield 
a  power  far  more  dangerous  than  that  of  the  average 
fascinating  woman,  if  her  will  marshalled  the  rest  of  her 
faculties  and  drove  them  in  a  straight  line;  although  the 
luminous  skin  as  polished  as  ivory,  the  low  full  curves 
and  slow  graceful  movements  of  her  figure  added  a 
potency  that  Flora,  always  an  amused  observer  of  men, 
would  have  been  the  last  to  ignore.  Victoria,  high-bred, 
fastidious,  mocking,  yet  unmistakably  passionate  and 

26 


ANCESTORS 

possibly  insurgent,  was  of  that  mint  of  woman  about  whom 
men  had  gone  mad  since  the  world  began.  But  this  girl, 
who  might  be  as  cold  as  the  moon,  or  not,  looked,  in  any 
case,  capable  of  clasping  a  man's  throat  with  her  strong 
little  hand,  and  gently  turning  his  head  from  east  to  west. 
At  this  point  Miss  Thangue  rose  impatiently  and  rang  a 
bell.  Jack's  career  was  almost  at  the  flood.  No  woman 
could  submerge  his  intellect  and  stupendous  interests  for 
more  than  a  moment. 

"Order  lights  and  have  your  trunks  brought  up,"  she 
said.  "I  will  send  one  of  the  housemaids  to  help  you 
dress.  My  room  is  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  house — 
go  through  that  door  opposite,  and  down  a  corridor  until 
you  come  to  another  long  hall  and  staircase  like  the  one 
on  this  side.  You  will  find  my  name  on  the  door.  Knock 
at  about  a  quarter-past  eight  and  I  will  go  down  with  you. 
Vicky  may  be  in  an  angelic  humor  and  she  may  not.  It 
depends  mainly  upon  whether  Jack  condescends  to  turn 
up.  I  suppose  you  know  all  about  him;  it  would  hardly 
do  for  you  to  face  him  and  his  mother  if  you  didn't.  He 
has  travelled  quite  exhaustively  in  the  colonies  and  given 
us  some  of  the  most  informing  literature  on  that  subject 
that  we  have.  He  was  out  in  Africa  when  the  Boer  War 
broke  out,  and  once  before  in  India,  when  there  was 
righting,  volunteered  both  times  and  did  brilliant  service. 
He  has  no  end  of  medals  with  clasps.  Then  he  suddenly 
\vent  in  for  politics  and  announced  himself  an  uncom 
promising  Liberal.  It  nearly  killed  his  grandfather — Lord 
Strathland — for  Jack  is  the  one  person  on  earth  that  he 
loves  as  much  as  himself;  and  it  has  alienated  many  of 
his  relatives  on  both  sides — which  gave  him  one  more 
chance  to  win  against  terrific  odds;  he  enjoys  that  sort  of 

27 


ANCESTOR^ 

thing.  He  had  been  in  but  two  years  when  there  was  a 
general  election,  and  he  has  only  just  got  back — he  con 
tested  three  divisions  before  he  won  his  seat  this  time,  and 
he  had  almost  as  hard  a  fight  before.  Vicky,  who  hates 
the  Gwynnes,  with  the  exception  of  Lord  Zeal,  the  heir, 
besides  believing  in  Jack  as  you  would  in  Solomon,  has 
steadily  upheld  him;  and  she  is  a  powerful  ally — not  only 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  political  women,  but 
still  turns  heads  when  she  chooses,  and  her  game  is  general 
ly  in  the  cabinet  preserves,  when  it  is  not  in  the  diplomatic. 
I  must  run.  Put  on  your  most  fetching  gown.  Julia 
Kaye,  a  detestable  little  parvenu,  is  here.  Jack  is  in  love 
with  her  and  she  has  chosen  another.  It  will  be  a  cousinly 
duty  to  console  him.  Then  you  can  turn  him  over  to  some 
one  else.  Ta,  ta!"  Her  last  words  floated  back  from  the 
depths  of  the  corridor;  a  clock  was  striking  and  she  had 
pattered  off  hastily. 


Ill 


THE  "Jack,"  whose  more  distinguished  patronymic 
was  so  gayly  caracolling  down  the  road  to  posterity, 
had  arrived,  and  after  dressing  hastily,  sought  his  mother. 
Her  hair  was  done,  her  gown  laced;  she  dismissed  her 
maid  at  once,  and  while  her  eyes  melted,  in  the  fashion  of 
mothers,  she  embraced  her  son  with  something  more  than 
maternal  warmth:  a  curious  suggestion  of  relief,  of  stepping 
out  of  her  own  personality  and  leaving  it  like  a  heap  of 
clothes  on  the  floor.  This  attitude  had  occasionally 
puzzled  her  idol,  but  he  was  too  masculine  to  analyze. 
She  was  his  best  friend  and  a  delightful  person  to  have 
for  a  mother;  her  soul  might  be  her  own  possession  un 
disturbed.  He  admired  her  almost  as  much  as  he  did 
himself,  and  to-night  he  kissed  her  fondly  and  told  her 
gallantly  that  she  was  looking  even  more  beautiful  than 
usual. 

"It  is  all  this  white  after  the  dead  black,"  said  Lady 
Victoria,  smiling  appreciatively.  "I  am  thankful  that 
prolonged  mourning  is  out  of  date;  it  made  a  fright  of  me 
and  was  getting  on  my  nerves."  She  wore  no  jewels 
save  a  high  diamond  dog-collar  and  a  few  sparkling  combs 
in  her  hair,  but  she  made  a  superb  appearance  with  the 
long  white  sweep  of  shoulders  and  bust,  her  brilliant  eyes 
and  smart  tailed  gown  of  black  chiffon  and  Irish  lace. 
Her  arms,  no  longer  rounded  as  when  artists  had  fought 

29 


A      N      C       E       S       T       O       R      S 

to  paint  her,  were  but  half-revealed  under  floating  sleeves, 
and  her  fair  tapering  hands  were  even  younger  than  her 
face. 

She  opened  a  large  black  fan  and  moved  it  slowly  while 
looking  intently  at  her  son's  bent  profile.  "Something  has 
gone  wrong,"  she  said.  "Have  you  seen  Julia  Kaye 
again  ?" 

"No,  I  was  invited  to  Maundrell  Abbey  last  week,  but 
couldn't  manage  it,  of  course.  And  I  knew  she  was  to  be 
here.  Nothing  has  gone  wrong — but  I  had  rather  a  shock 
this  morning.  I  met  Zeal  at  the  club.  He  looks  like  a 
death's  head.  He  vowed  he  was  taking  even  better  care 
of  himself  than  usual,  but  his  chest  is  bad  again.  He 
talked  about  going  to  Davos — the  very  word  makes  me 
sick!  In  the  next  breath  he  said  he  might  go  out  to 
Africa.  Can't  you  hurry  on  his  marriage  ? — persuade 
Carry  that  it  is  her  duty  to  go  with  him  ?" 

"I  should  have  no  difficulty  persuading  Carry.  The 
rub  is  with  him.  Compulsory  asceticism  has  bred  misog 
yny,  and  misogyny  scruples.  He  says  that  he  has  sins 
enough  to  his  account  without  laying  up  a  reckoning  with 
posterity.  If  it  were  not  for  you  I  should  agree  with  him. 
I  feel  like  a  conspirator — " 

"There  is  no  reason  why  his  children  should  be  con 
sumptive.  Carry's  physique  is  Wagnerian,  and  she  is 
just  the  woman  to  look  after  her  children  herself.  Zeal's 
health  was  thrown  to  the  dogs  by  a  weak  indulgent 
frivolous  mother,  and  what  she  left  him  he  disposed  of 
later  when  he  made  as  great  an  ass  of  himself  as  might 
have  been  expected.  He  is  a  hypochondriac  now  and 
would  keep  a  close  watch  on  his  heir's  health  and  habits; 
you  may  be  sure  of  that.  He  ought  not  to  be  in  London 

30 


ANCESTORS 

now — it  is  stifling — went  up  for  some  business  meeting  or 
other— seemed  to  wish  to  avoid  details.  I  hope  to  heaven 
he  has  not  been  relieving  the  monotony  of  his  life  by  some 
rotten  speculation.  I  begged  him  to  come  down  here,  but 
he  wouldn't — says  that  his  hand  is  no  longer  steady  enough 
to  hold  a  gun — it's  awful! — worse  because  I'm  not  merely 
fond  of  him  and  regretting  the  possible  loss  of  a  good 
friend — I  have  felt  like  a  beast  all  day.  But  I  can't  help 
it.  For  God's  sake  write  and  persuade  him  to  go  to  Davos 
at  once — and  picture  the  delights  of  a  pretty  and  devoted 
nurse.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  ashes  in  my  mouth — and  yester 
day  I  was  so  happy!"  he  burst  out,  with  the  petulance  of  a 
child. 

"I  will  write  to-night,"  she  said,  soothingly.  "He  has  a 
very  slow  form  of  consumption;  I  have  the  assurance  of 
his  doctors.  And  at  least  he  has  committed  himself  with 
Carry,  and  announced  his  intention  to  marry  as  soon  as  a 
sojourn  somewhere  has  made  him  feel  fit  again.  You 
know  how  much  better  he  always  is  when  he  comes  back. 
Put  it  out  of  your  mind  to-night.  I  want  you  to  be  as 
happy  as  I  am.  Everybody  is  talking  of  the  brilliance  of 
your  campaign — 

"Much  good  brilliance  will  do  me  if  I  am  to  rot  in  the 
Upper  House!" 

"Put  it  out  of  your  mind;  don't  let  apprehension  control 
you  for  a  moment.  Believe  me,  will-power  counts  in  life 
for  more  than  everything  else  combined,  and  if  it  isn't 
watched  it  weakens." 

"All  right,  mummy.  You  are  never  so  original  as 
when  you  preach.  So  Julia  Kaye  came  down  this  after 
noon  ?  Talk  about  will.  Mine  should  be  of  pure  steel: 
I  have  ordered  her  out  of  my  consciousness  these  last 

31 


ANCESTORS 

weeks  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  She  has  written  me 
exactly  three  times.  However — those  letters  were  charm 
ing,"  he  added,  with  the  sudden  smile  that  transfigured 
his  face,  routing  the  overbearing  and  contemptuous  ex 
pression  that  had  won  him  so  many  enemies;  friends  and 
flatterers  and  the  happy  circumstances  of  his  life  had 
combined  thoroughly  to  spoil  him.  "Do  you  maintain 
that  will  can  win  a  woman  ?"  he  added,  sharply. 

She  was  the  woman  to  laugh  outright  at  such  a  sug 
gestion.  "No,  nor  that  it  can  uproot  love,  although  it  can 
give  it  a  good  shaking  and  lock  it  in  the  dark  room.  I 
doubt  if  you  love  Julia  Kaye,  but  you  will  find  that  out  for 
yourself.  You  might  bring  her  to  terms  by  flirting  a  little 
with  your  American  cousin — " 

"My  what?"  He  opened  his  eyes  as  widely  as  he  had 
ever  done  when  a  school-boy. 

"Of  course — I  forgot  you  know  nothing  of  her.  She 
wrote  me  from  Ambleside — I  infer  she  has  been  'doing* 
England;  and  as  her  credentials  were  unimpeachable  I 
asked  her  down.  She  has  inherited  a  part  of  the  north 
ern  estate  and  was  brought  up  in  the  neighboring  town 
of  Rosewater — the  American  names  are  too  silly.  She 
seems  quite  comme  II  faut  and  is  remarkably  handsome. 
I  detest  Americans,  as  you  know,  but  there  certainly  is 
something  in  blood.  I  liked  her  at  once.  She  looks 
clever,  and  is  quite  ofF  the  type — none  of  the  usual  fluff. 
If  she  doesn't  bore  me  I  shall  keep  her  here  for  a  while." 

"I  wish  you  would  adopt  her,"  he  said,  fondly.  "I 
shouldn't  be  jealous,  for  I  hate  to  think  of  you  so  much 
alone."  He  rose  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  forehead, 
experience  teaching  him  to  avoid  a  stray  hair  from  the 
carefully  built  coiffure.  "I'll  see  if  I  can  waylay  Julia  on 

32 


A       N_     C       E       S     JT_  _O £_  _S 

the  stairs;  she  is  always  late.  Keep  from  eleven  to  twelve 
for  me  to-morrow  morning.  I  want  to  tell  you  about  the 
campaign.  It  was  a  glorious  fight!"  His  eyes  sparkled 
at  the  memory  of  it.  "  I  felt  as  if  every  bit  of  me  had  never 
been  alive  at  once  before.  My  opponent  was  a  splendid 
chap.  It  meant  something  to  beat  him.  The  other  side 
was  in  a  rage! — more  than  once  yelled  for  half  an  hour 
after  I  took  the  platform.  When  I  finished  they  yelled 
again  for  half  an  hour — to  a  different  tune."  His  slight, 
thin,  rather  graceless  figure  seemed  suddenly  to  expand, 
even  to  grow  taller.  Some  hidden  magnetism  burst  from 
him  like  an  aura,  and  his  cold  pasty  face  and  light  gray 
eyes  flamed  into  positive  beauty.  "It  was  glorious!  Glo 
rious!  I  was  intoxicated — I  could  have  reeled,  little  as  they 
suspected  it.  I  wouldn't  part  for  a  second  with  the  cer 
tainty  that  I  am  the  biggest  figure  in  young  England  to 
day.  I  hate  to  sleep  and  forget  it.  If  I  cultivated  modesty 
I  should  renounce  one  of  the  exquisite  pleasures  of  life. 
Humility  is  a  superstition.  The  man  who  doesn't  weed 
it  out  is  an  ass.  To  be  young,  well-born,  with  money 
enough,  a  brain  instead  of  a  mere  intelligence,  an  essential 
leader  of  men — Good  God!  Good  God!"  Then  he 
subsided  and  blushed,  jerked  up  his  shoulders  and  laughed. 
"Well — I  never  let  myself  go  to  anyone  but  you,"  he  said. 
"And  I  won't  inflict  you  any  longer." 


IV 


"T  WISH  the  old  homes  of  England  had  electric  lights/5 
1  thought  Miss  Otis,  with  a  sigh. 

There  were  four  candles  on  the  dressing-table,  two  on 
the  mantel-shelf;  beyond  the  radius  of  their  light  the  room 
was  barely  visible.  She  carried  one  of  the  candles  over  to 
the  cheval-glass  and  held  it  above  her  head,  close  to  her 
face,  low  on  either  side. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  put  together  by  some  unpleasant 
mechanical  process.  It  is  well  I  am  not  inordinately  vain, 
but  when  one  puts  on  a  new  dress  for  the  first  time — 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders  hopelessly,  replaced  the 
candle,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  swinging  the 
train — her  first — of  the  charming  gown  of  pale  blue  satin; 
patting  the  hair  coiled  softly  about  the  entire  head  in 
a  line  eminently  becoming  to  the  profile,  and  prolonged 
by  several  little  curls  escaping  to  the  neck. 

She  felt  happy  and  excited,  her  fine  almost  severe  face 
far  more  girlishly  alive  than  when  she  had  told  her  story, 
provocatively  dry,  to  Flora  Thangue.  She  directed  an 
approving  glance  at  the  high  heels  of  her  slippers,  which, 
with  her  lofty  carriage,  produced  the  effect  of  non-existing 
inches.  She  was  barely  five  feet  five,  but  she  ranked  with 
tall  women,  her  height  as  unchallenged  as  the  chiselling 
of  her  profile. 

"What  frauds  we  all  are!"  she  thought,  with  a  humor  of 

34 


ANCESTORS 

which  she  had  not  vouchsafed  Miss  Thangue  a  hint. 
"But  what  is  a  cunningly  made  slipper  on  a  foot  not  so 
small,  at  the  end  of  a  body  not  quite  long  enough,  but  an 
encouraging  example  of  the  triumph  of  art  over  nature  ? 
Not  the  superiority,  perhaps,  but  they  are  the  best  of 
working  partners." 

She  sat  down  and  recalled  the  conversation  with  her 
new  friend,  giving  an  amused  little  shudder.  She  had 
heard  much  of,  and  in  her  travels  come  into  contact  with, 
the  cold-blooded  frankness  of  the  English  elect;  with  whom 
it  wTas  either  an  instinct  or  a  pose  to  manifest  their  careless 
sense  of  impregnability.  When  pressed  to  give  an  ac 
count  of  herself  the  dramatic  possibilities  of  the  method 
suddenly  appealed  to  her,  accompanied  by  a  mischievous 
desire  to  outdo  them  at  their  own  game  and  observe  the 
effect.  She  had  found  herself  as  absorbed  as  an  actress 
in  a  new  and  congenial  role. 

"After  all,"  she  thought,  "clever  women  make  them 
selves  over  in  great  part,  uprooting  here,  adopting  there, 
and  as  we  have  so  little  chance  to  be  anything,  there  is  a 
good  deal  to  be  got  out  of  it.  If  one  cannot  be  a  genius  one 
can  at  least  be  an  artist.  I  have  never  had  much  cause  to 
be  as  direct  as  stage  lightning,  but  as  I  enjoyed  it  I  sup 
pose  I  may  infer  that  even  brutal  frankness  is  not  foreign 
to  my  nature.  Perhaps,  like  father,  I  am  a  snob  at  heart 
and  liked  the  sensation  of  a  sort  of  artistic  alliance  with 
the  British  aristocracy.  Well,  if  I  develop  snobbery  I  can 
root  out  that  weed — or  persuade  myself  that  some  other 
motive  is  at  the  base  of  a  disposition  to  adopt  any  of  the 
characteristics  of  this  people:  a  woman  can  persuade 
herself  of  any  sophistry  she  chooses.  Not  for  anything 
would  I  be  a  man.  Absolutely  to  accept  the  facts  of  life, 

35 


A       N       C       -E       S       TORS 

even  the  ugly  unvarnished  fact  itself,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  invent  one's  own  soul-tunes  —  that  is  to  be  a 
woman  and  free!" 

A  printed  square  of  card-board  on  her  writing-table  had 
informed  her  that  the  dinner-hour  was  half-past  eight. 
She  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was  five  minutes  to  the  time. 
Once  more  she  peered  into  the  glass,  shook  out  her  skirts, 
then  sought  a  door  in  a  far  and  dusky  corner.  It  opened 
upon  a  long  dimly  lit  corridor  which  led  into  another  at 
right  angles,  and  Isabel  presently  found  herself  at  the 
head  of  a  staircase  similar  to  the  one  on  her  side  of  the 
house.  Here,  too,  the  walls  were  hung  with  portraits  and 
landscapes,  and  as  far  down  as  the  eye  could  follow;  but 
after  glancing  over  them  for  a  moment  with  the  recurring 
weariness  of  one  who  has  seen  too  many  pictures  in  the 
hard  ways  of  European  travel,  her  eyes  lit  and  lingered 
on  the  figure  of  a  young  man  who  stood  on  the  landing, 
his  back  to  her,  examining,  with  a  certain  tensity,  a  canvas 
on  a  level  with  his  eyes. 

"Uncle  Hiram — John  Elton  Cecil  Gwynne!  What  a 
likeness  and  what  a  difference!" 

The  young  Englishman's  hair,  pale  in  color  and  very 
smooth,  was  worn  longer  than  the  fashion,  the  ends  lilting. 
As  he  turned  slowly  at  the  rustle  of  descending  skirts,  this 
eccentricity  and  his  colorless  skin  made  him  look  the  pale 
student  rather  than  the  gallant  soldier,  the  best  fighter  on 
the  hustings  that  England  had  seen  for  five-and-twenty 
years.  As  Isabel  walked  carefully  down  the  slippery 
stair  she  veiled  her  eyes  to  hide  the  wonder  in  them.  She 
had  expected  personality,  magnetism,  as  a  compensation 
for  nature's  external  economies.  His  apparent  lack  of 
both  made  him  almost  repellent,  awakened  in  Isabel  a 

36 


A      N      C       E       S       T      0       R       S 

sensation  of  antagonism;  and  the  cool  speculation  in  his 
light  gray  eyes  merely  accentuated  his  general  dearth  of 
charm.  True  he  had  height — although  his  carnage  was 
unimposing — his  head  was  large  and  well-proportioned, 
his  nose  and  chin  salient,  but  the  straight  heavy  mouth 
was  as  contemptuous  as  a  Prussian  officer's,  and  in  spite  of 
his  grooming  he  looked  old-fashioned,  absurdly  like  the 
Uncle  Hiram  who  had  been  a  country  lawyer  and  farmer, 
and  had  always  worn  broadcloth  in  the  hottest  weather — 
except,  to  be  sure,  when  he  wore  a  linen  "duster,"  or  sat 
on  the  veranda  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  his  feet  on  the  railing. 

However,  she  smiled,  and  he  smiled  politely  in  return, 
advancing  a  few  steps  to  meet  her.  "I  hope  you  have 
heard  of  me,"  she  said.  "Your  mother  is  so  busy — 
English  people  are  so  indifferent  to  details — I  am  your 
cousin,  Isabel  Otis — 

"Of  course  my  mother  has  spoken  of  you.  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you  in  my  house,"  he  added,  hospitably.  "Shall 
I  show  you  the  way  ?" 

He  made  no  further  remark  as  they  descended  the  darker 
section  of  the  stair,  and  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say 
to  him.  Nor  did  she  particularly  care  to  think  of  anything, 
the  American  in  her  resenting  his  lack  of  effort.  But  as 
they  reached  the  door  she  paused  abruptly. 

"I  forgot!  Miss  Thangue  asked  me  to  knock  at  her 
door—" 

"You  take  us  too  seriously,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  sneer. 
"Flora  has  evidently  forgotten  you;  she  came  down  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ago." 

Isabel  lifted  her  head  still  higher,  annoyed  at  the  angry 
blood  that  leaped  to  her  face.  "I  am  afraid  I  am  rather 
literal,"  she  said,  with  more  hauteur  than  the  occasion 

37 


A_     NCESTORS 

demanded.  "But  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  where  to  go. 
There  seems  to  be  a  bewildering  number  of  rooms.  After 
three  years  of  lodgings  in  Europe,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
modest  architecture  of  Rosewater,  I  feel  as  if  astray  in  ? 
maze." 

"You  got  that  off  as  if  you  were  a  masquerading  prin 
cess,"  he  said,  with  a  flicker  of  humor  in  his  eyes.  "Amer 
icans  generally  bluff  the  other  way."  He  opened  the 
door.  "We  meet  here  in  the  hall.  There  is  my  mother. 
You  are  not  obliged  to  speak  to  her,  you  know.  We  are 
less  formal  in  life  than  in  novels."  With  this  parting  shot 
he  left  her  abruptly  and  joined  a  small  dark  woman  with 
a  plebeian  face,  a  sensual  mouth,  and  magnificent  black 
eyes. 

"The  rude  beast! — Julia  Kaye,  of  course."  But  Isabel 
forgot  them  both  in  the  novelty  of  the  scene.  The  square 
white  hall  was  lit  with  wax-candles  and  shaded  lamps,  and 
filled  with  the  murmur  of  voices — beautiful  gowns — the 
sparkle  of  jewels.  Isabel  dismissed  the  memory  of  early 
trials,  the  long  years  she  had  lived  in  the  last  three,  her 
philosophic  resignation  to  the  disillusions  and  disappoint 
ments  with  which  her  liberty  had  been  pitted;  it  was  her 
first  appearance  in  the  world  of  fashion — which  she  en 
tered,  after  all,  by  a  sort  of  divine  right.  Trepidation  was 
undeveloped  in  her,  and  when  she  had  stood  for  a  mo 
ment,  quite  aware  that  her  proud  and  singular  beauty 
had  won  her  instant  recognition,  she  walked  over  to  her 
hostess. 

No  fresh  demand  was  made  on  her  courage.  Lady 
Victoria's  earlier  mood  of  colossal  indifference  had  been  dis 
sipated  by  her  son's  return.  She  greeted  Isabel  with  a 
dazzling  smile  and  a  winning  gesture. 

38 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

"  Isn't  Jack  a  darling  ?  Isn't  he  a  dear  ?''  she  command 
ed.  "I  have  put  you  on  his  left,  that  you  may  be  sure  not 
to  be  bored.  What  hair!  That  is  your  legacy  from  Spain. 
I  have  the  eyes,  but  I  never  had  a  foot  of  hair.  I  hope  you 
are  comfortable.  I  expect  you  to  remain  a  week.  I  am 
so  glad  that  Jack  will  be  here.  The  place  is  intolerably 
dull  without  him/' 

Isabel,  warming  to  such  maternal  ardor  in  a  beauty 
whose  years  were  prematurely  emphasized  by  a  son  as 
conspicuous  as  Elton  Gwynne,  summoned  a  few  vague 
words  of  enthusiasm.  She  was  reproached  politely  for 
wandering  about  England  for  two  months  before  discover 
ing  herself  to  her  relatives;  then,  Lady  Victoria's  interest 
waning,  she  turned  to  a  young  man,  handsome  and  Saxon 
and  orthodox,  and  said,  casually,  "Jimmy,  you  will  take 
in  Miss  Otis." 

Dinner  had  already  been  announced.  The  twain,  in 
complete  ignorance  of  each  other's  identity,  walked  through 
a  long  line  of  rooms,  almost  unfurnished  but  for  the  scowl 
ing  or  smiling  dead  crowding  the  walls.  Isabel  decided 
that  she  would  be  as  effortless  as  the  English  and  see  what 
came  of  it.  The  practised  instinct  of  the  American  girl, 
added  to  the  excessive  hospitality  of  the  Californian, 
would  have  led  her  to  put  her  companion  immediately  at 
ease,  but  not  only  was  she  fond  of  experimenting  with 
racial  characteristics  upon  her  own  hidden  possibilities, 
but  she  was  intensely  proud,  and  the  English  attitude  had 
stung  her  more  than  once. 

44 Why  should  I  please  them?"  she  thought,  contempt 
uously.  "Let  them  please  me." 

Her  companion  betrayed  no  eagerness  to  please  her; 
and  during  the  first  ten  minutes  at  table  he  talked  to 

39 


ANCESTORS 

Gwynne  about  the  late  elections.  Evidently,  he  too  had 
emerged  from  the  political  fray  triumphant.  Isabel  sat 
like  a  stately  picture  by  Reynolds,  and  after  her  slow  gaze 
had  travelled  over  the  dark  full-length  portraits  of  the 
kings  and  queens  that  had  honored  Capheaton,  it  dropped 
to  the  more  animated  faces  in  the  foreground.  The  men 
were  good-looking,  with  hardly  an  exception;  judging  by 
their  carriage  they  might  all  have  been  army  men,  but  as 
every  word  that  floated  to  the  head  of  the  table  was 
political,  they  possibly  had  followed  their  successful  host's 
example  and  adopted  an  equally  intermittent  career.  One 
or  two  of  the  women  were  almost  as  handsome  as  Lady 
Victoria,  with  their  superb  figures,  their  complexions  of 
claret  and  snow,  that  blending  of  high  breeding  and  warm 
palpitating  humanity  one  never  sees  outside  of  England. 
But  others  within  Isabel's  range  were  too  haggard  for 
beauty,  although  one  had  a  Burne-Jones  face  and  her  eyes 
gazed  beyond  the  company  with  an  expression  that  made 
her  seem  pure  spirit;  but  she  too  looked  tired,  delicate, 
curiously  overworked. 

Opposite  Isabel  was  a  tall  buxom  young  woman  of  the 
purest  Saxon  type,  who  was  talking  amiably  with  the  man 
on  her  right,  and  occasionally  shaking  with  deep  and  silent 
laughter;  her  intimate  casual  manner,  her  slight  move 
ments,  her  accentuation,  manifestly  bred  in  the  bone. 
Suddenly  it  was  borne  in  upon  Isabel's  always  sensitive 
consciousness  that  she  was  the  only  haughty  and  reserved 
person  present,  and  she  felt  provincial  and  laughed  frankly 
at  herself.  The  lady  across  the  table  claiming  the  atten 
tion  of  the  host,  she  turned  to  her  own  partner.  Her 
black  eyelashes  were  long,  and  under  their  protecting 
shadow  she  swept  a  glance  at  the  card  above  the  young 

40 


J_    N      C     _£ S_     T       O       R       S 

man's  plate.  It  was  inscribed,  "Lord  Hexam."  She 
saw  her  opportunity  and  asked,  ingenuously: 

"How  can  you  be  a  member  of  the  House  of  Commons  ?" 

He  looked  up  from  his  fish  and  replied,  somewhat  cut 
tingly,  "By  contesting  a  borough  and  getting  elected." 

"But  I  thought  a  peer  could  not  be  in  the  House  of 
Commons/' 

"He  can't." 

"Then  how  can  you  be  ?" 

"I  am  not  a  peer."     He  looked  very  much  annoyed. 

"  But  you  are  Lord  Hexam." 

He  answered,  sulkily:  "I  happen  to  be  the  son  of  a 
peer." 

"Are  you  irritated  because  I  know  nothing  about  you  ?" 
asked  Isabel,  cruelly.  "Do  you  suppose  I  have  wasted 
my  time  in  England  reading  Burke  ?" 

"No,  there  are  too  many  sights,"  he  replied,  more 
cruelly  still. 

"They  are  far  more  interesting  than  most  of  the  people 
I  have  met."  Then  she  changed  her  tactics  and  smiled 
upon  him;  and  when  she  smiled  she  showed  a  dimple 
hardly  larger  than  a  pin's  head  at  one  corner  of  her  flexible 
mouth.  For  the  first  time  he  looked  under  her  eyelashes 
into  the  odd  blue  eyes,  with  their  dilated  pupils  and  black 
rim  edging  the  light  iris.  He  suddenly  realized  that  she 
was  beautiful,  in  spite  of  the  three  little  black  moles  on 
her  face — he  detested  moles — and  smiled  in  return. 

"I  am  afraid  I  was  rude.  But  I  am  really  shy,  and  you 
quite  took  it  out  of  me.  I  am  more  afraid  of  the  American 
girl  than  of  anything  on  earth." 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  an  American  ?" 

"By  your  accent."  He  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Now 
I  am  even  with  you." 


ANCESTOR    _S 

"Well,  you  are.  Californians  pride  themselves  upon 
having  no  accent." 

"Oh,  it  is  not  nearly  so  bad  as  some.  But  it  is  there  all 
the  same.  Not  a  twang  nor  a  drawl,  but — well — every 
country  has  its  unmistakable  stamp.'* 

"Well,  I  have  no  desire  to  be  taken  for  anything  but  an 
American,"  she  said,  defiantly.  "A  Californian,  that  is. 
After  all,  we  are  quite  different.  But  we  do  have  an 
appalling  variety  of  accents  in  the  United  States.  I  have 
lived  abroad  long  enough  to  discover  that.  When  I  am 
an  old  maid  I  am  going  to  mount  the  platform  and  preach 
the  training  of  the  voice  in  childhood.  I  have  taken  a 
violent  dislike  to  more  than  one  clever  American  man 
merely  because  he  trailed  his  voice  through  his  nose.  I 
don't  mind  our  vices  being  criticised  as  much  as  our 
crudities." 

"I  never  before  heard  an  American  girl  make  a  remark 
that  indicated  the  least  interest  in  her  country — even 
when — pardon  me — they  brag.  They  generally  give  the 
impression  that  they  don't  even  know  who  happens  to  be 
the  President  of  the  moment.  Somehow,  you  look  as  if 
you  might." 

"I  was  brought  up  by  a  man,  and  my  uncle  was  a  great 
politician  in  a  small  way.  That  is  to  say  he  was  identified 
with  country  politics  only,  but  he  and  my  father  were 
everlastingly  discussing  the  national  issues.  Of  course 
you  have  only  met  girls  from  the  great  cities,  where  the 
men  are  too  busy  making  money  to  take  any  interest  in 
public  affairs.  The  women  rarely  hear  them  mentioned, 
practically  forget  there  are  such  affairs — except  on  the 
Fourth  of  July,  which  they  resent  as  a  personal  griev 
ance.  I  have  met  scores  of  them  in  Europe.  To  know 

42 


ANCESTORS 

anything  of  politics  they  regard  as  the  height  of  bad 
form." 

"Sometimes  I  wish  that  our  women  would  let  them 
alone  for  a  while.  That  is  my  sister  over  there,"  indicat 
ing  the  lady  with  the  Burne-Jones  face.  "She  has  worn 
herself  to  a  shadow  working  for  her  husband,  who  is  in 
the  House,  and  she  is  heart  and  soul  in  politics — which  she 
regards  as  a  sort  of  divine  mission.  She  is  on  several  com 
mittees,  is  far  more  useful  to  her  husband  than  his  secre 
tary,  for  she  has  the  gift  of  style — and  no  one  would  accuse 
Rex  of  that — and  during  an  election  she  never  rests.  Be 
sides  which,  of  course  she  has  her  little  family,  the  usual 
number  of  establishments  to  look  after,  and  great  social 
pressure.  I  always  maintain  that  our  women  are  of  im 
mense  service  to  us,  but  many  of  them  are  physically 
unfit.  I  expect  to  see  my  sister  go  to  pieces  any  day,  and 
as  she  is  little  short  of  an  angel  it  worries  me." 

"She  does  look  angelic,"  said  Isabel,  sympathetically. 
"Is  that  what  is  the  matter  with  the  rest  of  them? — the 
thin  ones,  I  mean  ?" 

"Generally  speaking.  The  thinnest  is  my  cousin.  I 
went  in  for  a  cup  of  tea  a  week  or  two  before  the  end  of 
last  session.  There  were  several  of  us  about  the  tea-table 
when  a  footman  entered  and  muttered  something  to  her, 
and  with  a  vague  word  of  apology  she  left  the  room  and 
did  not  return  for  half  an  hour.  I  thought  the  baby  must 
be  dying,  and  was  about  to  ring,  when  she  reappeared  and 
remarked  that  she  had  been  sitting  at  the  telephone  listen 
ing  to  a  paper  her  husband  had  just  finished  on  one  of  the 
questions  before  the  House.  Some  of  them  stand  it  better." 
He  indicated  a  fair  beautiful  creature  with  a  determined 
profile  and  deep  womanly  figure.  "There  is  Mrs.  Sefton, 
5  43 


ANCESTORS 

for  instance.  She  presides  at  committee  meetings — she  is 
great  on  colonial  politics — for  three  or  four  hours  at  a 
time,  and  always  sails  out  as  fresh  as  a  rose;  but  she  has 
buried  her  husband  and  entertains  when  and  whom  she 
chooses.  Lady  Cecilia  opposite  understands  politics  as 
well  as  any  woman  in  England,  but  does  not  go  in  for 
them — Spence  isn't  in  the  House;  that  may  account  for 
it!" 

"Your  fashionable  women  do  not  in  the  least  resemble 
ours,"  said  Isabel,  meditatively.  "They  are  far  more 
like  the  women  of  our  small  towns." 

"What!" 

"It  sounds  paradoxical,  but  it  is  more  than  half  true. 
Say  two-thirds;  the  other  third  is  all  in  favor  of  your 
women,  for  obvious  reasons.  But  those  I  speak  of,  the 
best  women  of  every  small  town,  are  constantly  active  in 
civic  affairs.  Most  of  the  sanitary  improvements  and  the 
educational,  all  schemes  for  parks  and  better  streets,  come 
from  them.  There  is  no  village  too  small  to  have  its 
'Woman's  Improvement  Club.'  And  it  is  the  women  that 
have  saved  all  the  historical  buildings  in  the  country  from 
destruction." 

"I  thought  they  went  in  for  Browning  Societies." 

"Doubtless  you  would  scorn  really  to  know  anything 
of  American  humor.  Perhaps  our  comic  papers  have 
never  heard  of  the  Improvement  Clubs,  or  find  nothing  in 
them  that  is  humorous.  Not  that  I  would  decry  the 
Browning  Clubs,  nor  any  literary  clubs,  however  crude. 
It  is  all  in  the  line  of  progress.  'Culture'  is  a  tempting 
morsel  for  the  jokemaker,  but  as  an  alternative  for  dull 
domesticity  and  the  vulgar  inanities  of  gossip  it  is  not  to  be 
despised." 

44 


ANCESTORS 

"By  Jove,  you  are  right,"  said  Hexam,  not  without 
warmth. 

"Is  my  fair  cousin  converting  you  to  something  ?"  asked 
the  host.  His  voice  had  been  little  heard,  and  he  looked 
sulky. 

"Cousin?" 

"Yes,  he  is  my  cousin,"  said  Isabel,  with  the  accent  of 
resignation.  Hexam  laughed.  Gwynne  looked  as  if  the 
grace  of  humor  had  been  left  out  of  him.  Isabel,  in 
nocent  and  impassive,  turned  her  eyelashes  upon  her 
partner.  "I  was  quite  wild  to  meet  my  cousin,"  she  went 
on,  in  the  toneless  voice  that  contrasted  so  effectively  with 
her  occasional  extravagance  of  speech;  "and  now  I  find 
him  the  precise  image  of  my  uncle  Hiram,  who  never 
spoke  to  me  except  to  say:  *  Little  girls  should  be  seen  and 
not  heard,'  or  'Run  off  to  bed  now,  little  one/  ' 

Without  repitching  her  voice  she  yet  infused  it  with  a 
patronizing  masculinity  that  once  more  startled  Hexam 
into  laughter,  and  caused  a  silent  convulsion  in  the  massive 
frame  of  Lady  Cecilia  Spence. 

"She  knows  that  was  a  bit  of  vengeance,"  thought 
Isabel.  "But  of  course,  manlike,  he'll  never  suspect  it." 
She  turned  her  deep  thoughtful  gaze  full  upon  her  cousin. 
His  eyes  were  glittering  under  their  heavy  lids.  He  re 
plied,  suavely: 

"I  hope  you  will  find  us  more  polite — if  less  picturesque. 
I  cannot  flatter  myself  that  my  likeness  to  your  uncle 
Hiram  extends  that  far.  'Precise  image' — is  not  that  per 
haps  a  bit  of  national  exaggeration  ?" 

"Well,  I  take  that  back,"  said  Isabel,  sweetly.  "But 
you  really  might  be  his  son  instead  of  his  second  cousin." 

"Perhaps  that  accounts  for  a  good  many  things,"  said 
45 


ANCESTORS 

Lady  Cecilia.  ''You  know,  Jack,  I  have  always  said 
there  was  something  exotic  about  you.  You  are  much 
too  energetic  and  progressive  for  this  settled  old  country. 
If  you  had  been  born  in  America  I  suppose  you  would 
have  been  president  at  the  earliest  moment  the  constitution 
permitted." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  delivered  himself  of  a 
bombshell.  "I  was  born  in  America,"  he  said. 

His  eyes  moved  slowly  from  one  stupefied  face  to  another. 
"As  I  left  at  the  age  of  five  weeks  I  can  hardly  claim  that 
the  incident  left  an  indelible  impress.  But  the  fact  re 
mains  that  I  should  be  eligible  for  the  presidency  if  I 
chose  to  become  an  American  citizen." 

Isabel  looked  at  her  relative  with  an  accession  of  in 
terest;  he  had  suddenly  ceased  to  be  an  alien,  become 
in  a  measure  a  personal  possession.  "Come  over  and  try 
it,"  she  said,  impulsively.  "There  is  a  career  worth  while! 
A  young  country  as  full  of  promise  as  of  faults!  Think 
of  the  variousness  of  achievement!  England's  history  is 
made.  If  you  are  all  they  claim,  you  might  really  make 
history  in  the  United  States.  If  I  only  had  a  brother— 
Her  eyes  were  flashing  for  the  first  time.  "However — they 
say  you  love  the  fight.  It  is  far  more  difficult  to  become 
a  president  of  the  United  States  than  a  prime-minister  of 
England,  for  with  us  family  influence  counts  for  nothing." 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  not  the  qualities  that  do  count.  To 
be  as  frank  as  yourself — I  don't  think  I  could  stand  your 
politics." 

"  But  think  of  the  excitement  of  really  sounding  your 
capacities!"  Impersonality  was  an  achievement  witji  Isa 
bel  and  she  could  always  command  it.  "You  can  never 
do  that  here,  no  matter  how  brilliant  your  success.  There 


JXCESTOR 

roost  zisrzrs;  be  tbe  qaesnom  of  3ac*w  far  vena  wtMJi 

WPITKT  -**Ei±KMHr  -pour  rasaSr,  aead  meads  cuf  t^uaJ  powe 
lirljes:  kssrc  ct  Me  i$  is  Katobbjsbness-  ET«Q  -wio 
berd  ran  expect  m>  renim,  a  bEad  iinmanttrff  —  dkwibd 
iciienoaacE  trocsi  tie  sisTf  -»da£Ei  t±»Tt  Trert  ban:  inro  ^ 
—  irrT«5  2t  tc-  :>e2^  rbe  dr.:~ 

-of  -dazt  in  Arneiica, 
i±sKt  rat-^  be  ssid  of  Azaenrm  p 
^esr  cif  IL.     &££&&&.  if  afflcr  poiiiD^  ai 
ibr  TTOWL     Y^E  iai£*i:  do  fan  T±K 


>~__ 

,  ne 

r.  ::-r  :\r  n_   ~r 


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for  Tie  lacaaar-"^ 
Tae  a2i£>T  rfcET  kiJ  kcr  ks  «*pe$  a^ki 

T  "•>"'       """:":".  TTT-        ait**  itt^H^atf 


-  :  • 

*"  I  c 
iaafei.  ffewrsr,  ~  sue 
I-  ~  -.LI-  fi_iir£  331 
-  awi  ts>  be 

'    :        .  .  . 


:    "I:'   -. 


— 


ANCESTORS 

a  stupendous  thing!  I  wish  I  knew  that  I  should  live  to 
see  England,  all  Europe,  a  republic.  There  is  no  other 
state  fit  for  self-respecting  men — that  voice  in  the  selection 
of  their  own  rulers." 

"By  Jove,  Jack!"  cried  Lord  Hexam.  "I  never  heard 
you  go  as  far  as  that  before." 

"Possibly  you  never  will  again.  I  have  no  desire  to 
rank  with  those  brilliant  failures  that  are  born  before  their 
time,  and  no  intention  of  wasting  my  energies  on  the  un 
attainable.  Moreover,  radicals  and  socialists  per  se  are 
merely  a  nuisance.  The  Liberal  party  is  the  only  choice 
in  England  to-day,  and  when  I  get  it  at  my  back,  I  can,  at 
least,  after  I  have  led  it  to  a  stronger  position,  fight  for 
the  soundest  of  the  extremist  dogmas,  as  well  as  for  the 
reorganization  of  the  House  of  Peers.  Hereditary  legisla 
tion  in  the  twentieth  century  and  the  most  civilized 
country  in  the  world!  Why  not  an  hereditary  army  and 
navy  ?  Russia  has  few  greater  anachronisms.  And  when 
one  thinks  of  the  careers  it  has  ruined!  Look  at  Barn- 
staple." 

The  two  men  plunged  into  discussion,  and  Isabel,  her 
eyes  expressing  a  polite  interest,  studied  the  face  of  her 
cousin.  She  appreciated  for  the  first  time  something  of 
its  power.  A  brief  illumination  of  his  eyes  had  betrayed 
the  soul  of  the  idealist;  a  passion  that  in  a  less  sound  mind 
might  result  in  fanaticism.  He  was  talking  with  none  of 
the  fiery  enthusiasm  that  made  him  so  irresistible  a  public 
speaker,  but  his  negative  suggestion  of  vitality,  of  mature 
thought,  his  very  lack  of  every-day  magnetism,  fascinated 
her;  not  the  woman,  but  the  acute,  receptive,  and  antag 
onistic  intelligence.  As  he  sat  there  talking,  with  hardly 
a  change  of  expression  in  his  voice  or  on  his  cold  face, 


A       NCESTORS 

faintly  sneering,  he  seemed  to  be  holding  his  powers  in 
solution;  to  have  resolved  them  for  the  time  being  into  their 
elements,  that  they  might  rest  and  recuperate.  While  no 
doubt  in  first-rate  physical  condition,  he  looked  as  if  he 
had  not  a  red  corpuscle  in  his  body,  and  this  very  con 
trast  to  the  warm  full-blooded  people  surrounding  him 
gave  him  a  distinction  of  his  own,  the  distinction  of  pure 
brain  independent  of  those  auxiliaries  that  few  public  men 
have  been  able  to  dispense  with.  It  was  obvious  that  he 
was  too  self-centred,  too  haughtily  indifferent,  or  too  spoilt, 
to  make  any  effort  in  private  life  to  charm  or  bewilder; 
when  he  vanquished  from  the  platform  it  was  by  the 
awakened  rush  of  the  forces  within  him;  and  this  very 
indifference,  this  contemptuous  knowledge  of  his  mighty 
reserves,  this  serene  faith  in  his  star,  invested  his  personal 
unattractiveness  with  a  formidable  significance.  Isabel's 
imagination  dilated  him  into  a  disembodied  intellect  sur 
rounded  by  mere  statues  of  human  flesh.  As  she  left 
the  dining-room  the  illusion  vanished.  She  liked  him  less 
than  ever,  nevertheless  wished  that  he  were  her  brother 
and  the  rising  star  in  American  politics. 


A 5  the  women  entered  a  large  room  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  central  hall,  where  coffee  was  to  be  served, 
Flora  Thangue  laid  her  hand  deprecatingly  on  Isabel's 
arm.  "I  was  so  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  wait  for  you," 
she  said.  "But  I  had  a  distracted  note  from  Vicky  at 
eight  asking  me  to  dress  as  quickly  as  I  could  and  see 
if  the  cards  on  the  table  were  all  right:  the  new  but 
ler  is  rather  a  muff,  and  such  a  martinet  the  footmen 
dare  not  interfere.  I  was  delighted  to  see  that  Jack  had 
taken  charge  of  you.  What  do  you  think  of  our  infant 
prodigy  ?" 

"I  have  had  little  chance  to  think  anything,"  said  Isabel, 
evasively.  "Is  he  the  typical  Englishman — I  mean  apart 
from  his  peculiar  gifts  ?" 

"Only  in  certain  qualities.  You  see  he  has  Celtic 
blood  in  him:  of  course  the  Gwynnes  had  their  origin  in 
Wales;  and  then  he  is  one-fourth  American,  isn't  he  ?  I 
can't  say  how  far  that  inheritance  has  influenced  his 
character,  but  there  is  no  doubt  about  the  Celtic.  Out 
wardly  he  is  even  more  impassive  than  the  usual  Oxford 
product,  and  if  he  had  been  born  a  generation  earlier  he 
would  have  had  all  sorts  of  affectations.  But  affectation, 
thank  heaven,  is  out  of  date.  We  wouldn't  tolerate  a 
Grandcourt  five  minutes.  Whom  should  you  like  to  talk 
to  ?  You  will  have  enough  of  me." 

5° 


A_ N_^C_ £       S       T      0       R      S 

"1  am  sure  there  is  no  one  I  shall  like  half  so  well," 
said  Isabel,  truthfully;  and  Flora  loved  her  for  not  being 
gracious.  "I  think  I  should  like  to  know  Mrs.  Kaye." 

"If  you  ever  do,  please  give  me  the  benefit  of  your  in 
vestigations.  There  are  as  many  opinions  of  her  as  there 
are  of  cats.  Vicky  believes  in  her  and  I  don't.  Jack  is 
in  love  with  her — with  certain  of  his  Celtic  instincts  gone 
wrong." 

She  led  Isabel  over  to  Mrs.  Kaye,  who  sat  alone  on  a 
small  sofa,  sipping  her  coffee  and  absently  puffing  at  a 
cigarette.  She  was  exquisitely  dressed  and  jewelled,  and 
her  little  figure  was  round  and  symmetrical;  but  nothing 
could  obscure  the  ignoble  modelling  of  her  face.  She 
might  have  been  misunderstood  for  a  housemaid  mas 
querading  had  it  not  been  for  an  air  of  assured  power,  a 
repose  as  monumental  as  that  of  a  Chinese  joss. 

She  had  cultivated  a  still  radiance  of  expression  which, 
when  she  thought  it  worth  her  while,  broke  into  a  tender  or 
brilliant  smile;  although  even  then  her  large,  ripe  mouth  re 
tained  a  hint  of  the  austerity  her  strong  will  had  imposed 
upon  it — to  the  more  complete  undoing  of  the  masculine 
host.  She  smiled  graciously  as  Miss  Thangue  murrnured 
the  introduction  and  moved  away,  but  did  not  offer  the 
other  half  of  the  sofa,  and  Isabel  fetched  a  chair. 

"You  are  the  American  cousin,  of  course,"  she  said,  with 
a  slight  lisp.  "We  were  all  talking  about  you  down  at 
our  end  of  the  table,  but  I  could  not  see  you  until  just  now. 
I  long  to  go  to  America,  your  novels  interest  me  so  much. 
But  one  is  always  so  busy — one  never  gets  time  for  the 
Atlantic.  Lady  Victoria  says  you  come  from  that  wonder 
ful  country,  California,  but  of  course  you  know  New 
York  and  Newport  still  better.  All  Americans  do." 

51 


A      N      C      E       S       T       O       R      S 

"I  have  never  seen  Newport,  and  passed  exactly  a  week 
in  New  York  before  sailing." 

Mrs.  Kaye's  expressive  eyes,  which  had  dwelt  on  Isabel 
with  flattering  attention,  fell  to  the  tip  of  her  cigarette. 
"No?  I  thought  that  all  smart  Americans  came  from 
that  sacred  precinct." 

"I  am  not  in  the  least  smart.  I  don't  really  know 
half  a  dozen  people  in  America  outside  of  the  county  in 
which  I  have  spent  the  greater  part  of  my  life — not  even 
in  San  Francisco,  where  I  was  born."  Isabel  held  her 
cigarette  poised  in  one  slender  hand,  letting  her  eyes  fall 
deliberately  on  the  broad  back  and  flat  nails  of  the  ex 
quisitely  kept  section  on  Mrs.  Kaye's  lap.  "So  far,  in  my 
small  social  ventures  I  have  felt  the  necessity  of  little  be 
yond  good  manners  and  a  small  independent  income. 
This  is  my  first  excursion  into  the  great  world,  and  of  course 
my  cousin  is  too  secure  in  her  position  to  care  whether  I 
am  smart  or  not.  Miss  Thangue,  the  only  other  woman 
I  have  talked  with,  is  far  too  amiable  and  well-bred.  Am 
I  to  understand  that  I  shall  be  tried  by  New  York  measure 
ments  and  found  wanting?" 

"Oh  no!"  Mrs.  Kaye's  bright  color  had  darkened. 
"On  the  contrary,  the  English  are  always  rather  amused 
at  American  distinctions.  It  only  happens  that  all  my 
friends  are  New-Yorkers." 

She  was  a  very  clever  woman,  for  snobbery  had  blunted 
and  demoralized  only  one  small  chamber  of  her  brain,  and 
she  had  as  comprehensive  a  knowledge  of  the  world  as  any 
woman  in  it.  Nevertheless,  as  her  powerful  magnetic 
eyes  met  the  ingenuous  orbs  opposite,  she  was  unable  to 
determine  whether  the  barbed  words,  quivering  in  a  sore 
spot,  had  been  uttered  in  innocence  or  intent.  "  Of  course 

52 


A      N      C       E      S       TORS 

one  doesn't  meet  so  many  Americans,  after  all.  Naturally, 
the  New-Yorkers  bring  the  best  letters."  She  paused  a 
moment  as  if  ruminating,  then  delivered  herself  of  an 
epigram:  "New  York  is  the  great  American  invention 
for  separating  the  wheat  from  the  tares." 

"Indeed!"     Isabel  was  too  surprised  to  strike  back. 

"It  is  well  known  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  exclusive 
social  bodies  in  the  world.  You  have  far  less  difficulty 
over  here." 

"That  may  be  merely  owing  to  the  fear  that  affects  all 
new  social  bodies.  I  have  the  honor  to  know  the  leader 
of  society  in  St.  Peter — a  town  of  ten  thousand  inhabi 
tants  near  my  own — and  she  is  frightfully  exclusive.  She 
is  so  afraid  of  knowing  the  wrong  sort  of  people  that 
she  is  barely  on  nodding  terms  with  the  several  thousand 
new-comers  that  have  added  to  the  wealth  and  importance 
of  the  town  during  the  last  ten  years.  Consequently,  her 
circle  is  as  dull  as  an  Anglo-Saxon  Sunday.  I  fancy  the 
same  may  be  said  of  New  York,  for  its  fashionable  set  is 
not  large  and  its  interests  are  far  from  various.  From 
all  I  have  heard,  London  society  alone  is  perennially  in 
teresting,  and  the  reason  is,  that,  absolutely  secure,  it  keeps 
itself  from  staleness  by  constantly  refreshing  its  veins 
with  new  blood,  exclusive  only  against  ofFensiveness.  Of 
course  you  are  a  daughter  of  a  duke  or  something,"  she 
added,  wickedly.  "Everybody  here  seems  to  be.  Don't 
you  feel  that  your  ancestors  have  given  you  the  right  to 
know  whom  you  please  ? — instead  of  eternally  plugging  the 
holes  in  the  dike." 

In  spite  of  her  sharpened  wits,  Mrs.  Kaye  smiled  ra 
diantly  into  Isabel's  guileless  eyes.  "I  am  not  the 
daughter  of  a  duke;  I  wish  I  were!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 

53 


A      N      C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

fair  assumption  of  aristocratic  frankness.  "But  your 
point  is  quite  correct."  Again  she  appeared  to  rumi 
nate;  then  added:  "The  British  aristocracy  is  to  society 
what  God  is  to  the  world — all-sufficient,  all-merciful,  all- 
powerful." 

"And  she  would  sacrifice  Him  and  all  his  archangels  to 
an  epigram,"  thought  Isabel,  who  was  somewhat  shocked. 
"How  fearfully  clever  you  are!"  she  murmured.  "Do 
you  think  in  epigrams  ?" 

"Epigrams?  Have  I  made  one?  I  wish  I  could. 
They  are  immensely  the  fashion." 

"I  should  think  you  might  have  set  it — " 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence,  for  the  ear  to  which  it 
was  addressed  suddenly  closed  Lady  Cecilia  Spence  had 
sauntered  up,  and  Mrs.  Kaye  hastily  made  room  for  her 
on  the  sofa,  turning  a  shoulder  upon  Isabel.  A  faint 
change,  as  by  the  agitation  of  depths  on  the  far  surface  of 
waters,  rippled  her  features,  and  Isabel,  summoning  the 
impersonal  attitude,  watched  her  curiously.  It  was  her 
first  experience  of  the  snob  in  a  grandiose  setting,  but  it 
was  the  type  that  had  aroused  her  most  impassioned  in 
ward  protest  all  her  life:  the  smallest  circles  have  their 
snobs,  and,  like  all  the  unchosen  of  mammon,  she  had  had 
her  corroding  experiences.  But  her  high  spirit  resented 
the  power  of  the  baser  influences,  and,  with  her  intellect, 
commanded  her  to  accept  the  world  with  philosophy  and 
the  unsheathed  weapon  of  self-respect.  In  the  present 
stage  of  the  world's  development  it  was  to  be  expected 
that  the  pettier  characteristics  of  human  nature  would  pre 
dominate;  and  perhaps  the  intellectually  exclusive  would 
not  have  it  otherwise. 

Mrs.  Kaye,  polite  tolerance  giving  place  to  the  accent  of 

54 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

intimacy,  began:  "Oh,  Lady  Cecilia,  have  you  heard— 
and  plunged  into  a  piece  of  gossip,  no  doubt  of  absorbing 
interest  to  those  that  knew  the  contributory  circum 
stances  and  the  surnames  of  the  actors,  but  to  the  un 
initiated  as  puzzling  as  success.  Lady  Cecilia's  eyes 
twinkled  appreciatively,  and  her  wells  of  laughter  bubbled 
close  to  the  surface.  Isabel,  completely  ignored,  waited 
until  the  story  was  finished,  and  then  made  a  deliberate 
move. 

"How  interesting!"  she  exclaimed.  "Won't  you  tell  me 
the  names  of  the  people  ?" 

Mrs.  Kaye,  without  turning  her  head,  murmured  some 
thing  indistinctly,  and  lit  another  cigarette.  "Won't  you 
have  a  light,  Lady  Cecilia  ?"  she  asked. 

"Please  give  me  one,"  said  Isabel,  sweetly.  She  reach 
ed  out  and  took  the  cigarette  from  Mrs.  Kaye's  faintly 
resisting  hand.  "Thank  you.  I  am  lazy  about  looking 
for  matches.  Do  you  smoke  a  lot  ?" 

But  Mrs.  Kaye,  irritated,  or  having  reached  the  con 
clusion  that  the  new-comer  was  not  in  the  very  least  worth 
while,  said  with  soft  fervor  to  her  who  was:  "How  de 
lightful  that  dear  Jack  was  returned!  Of  course  you  are 
as  interested  in  his  career  as  the  rest  of  us." 

"I  should  be  a  good  deal  more  so  if  his  mother  had 

O 

turned  him  across  her  knee  a  little  oftener — or  if  I  could 
shake  him  myself  occasionally." 

Isabel,  satisfied,  more  amazed  than  ever  at  the  in 
fantile  ingenuousness  of  the  snob,  rose,  and  was  about  to 
turn  away  when  she  met  Lady  Cecilia's  eyes.  They  were 
full  of  amusement,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  its  purport. 
In  a  flash  Isabel  had  responded  with  a  challenge  of  appeal, 
which  that  accomplished  dame  was  quick  to  understand. 

55 


ANCESTOR       S 

"Please  don't  go,"  she  said.  "I  came  over  here  to  talk 
to  you.  We  are  all  so  interested  in  the  idea  that  Vicky 
is  half  an  American — we  had  quite  forgotten  it.  Did  you 
ever  see  any  one  look  less  as  if  she  had  American  cousins 
than  Vicky?  She  might  easily  have  a  whole  tribe  of 
Spanish  ones." 

"Well,  she  has,  in  a  way."  And  in  response  to  many 
questions  Isabel  found  herself  relating  the  story  of  Rezanov 
and  Concha  Arguello,  while  Mrs.  Kaye,  whatever  may 
have  been  her  sensations,  rose  with  an  absent  smile  and 
composedly  transferred  herself  to  an  equally  distinguished 
neighborhood. 

"I  wonder  if  she  has  ever  tried  to  condense  rudeness 
into  an  epigram,"  said  Isabel  viciously,  pausing  in  her 
narrative. 

Lady  Cecilia  shook  expressively.  "At  least  she  has  not 
made  an  art  of  it,"  she  said.  "They  never  do." 


VI 


THE  next  morning,  Isabel,  after  little  sleep,  rose  early 
and  went  out  for  a  walk.  She  had  sat  up  until  eleven, 
listening  to  the  puzzling  jets  of  conversation,  or  watching 
the  Bridge-players,  and  when  she  had  finally  reached  her 
room,  tired  and  excited,  Flora  Thangue  had  come  in  for  a 
last  cigarette  and  half  an  hour  of  chat.  Her  first  evening 
in  the  new  world  had  had  its  clouded  moments,  for  it  was 
impossible  not  to  feel  the  alien,  and  the  kindness  of  Eng 
lish  people,  no  matter  how  deep,  is  casual  in  expression. 
But  on  the  whole  she  had  felt  more  girlishly  happy  and 
ebullient  than  since  her  sister  had  gone  her  own  way  and 
left  a  heavy  burden  for  young  shoulders  behind  her.  In 
the  freedom  of  a  girl  in  Europe,  no  matter  how  prized, 
there  is  much  of  loneliness  in  idleness,  a  constant  attitude 
of  defence,  moments  of  bitter  wonder  and  disgust,  and,  to 
the  analytical  mind,  an  encroaching  dread  of  a  more  normal 
future  with  a  chronic  canker  of  discontent. 

Isabel  had  by  no  means  passed  her  European  years  in 
the  procession  that  winds  from  the  Tiber  to  the  Seine, 
prostrating  itself  at  each  successive  station  of  architecture 
or  canvas;  nor  even  devoted  the  major  portion  of  her  time 
to  the  investigation  of  the  native,  deeply  as  the  varying 
types  had  interested  her.  Her  intellectual  ambition,  as  is 
often  the  case  with  the  American  provincial  girl,  had  been 
even  stronger  than  her  desire  for  liberty  and  pleasure,  and 

57 


ANCESTORS 

she  had  spent  several  months  with  the  archaeological  society 
of  Rome,  read  deeply  in  Italian  history  and  art,  attended 
lectures  at  the  Sorbonne,  and  spent  nearly  a  year  in  Berlin, 
Dresden,  Munich,  and  Vienna,  studying  that  modern 
stronghold  of  dramatic  literature,  the  German  Theatre. 

It  had  been  the  living  dream  of  long  winter  evenings, 
when  she  had  not  dared  to  join  in  the  festivities  of  the 
other  young  folk  lest  her  father  should  stray  beyond  her 
control;  he  would,  when  the  demon  was  quiescent,  sit  at 
home  if  she  read  to  him,  and  she  had  learned  to  read  and 
dream  at  the  same  time.  It  was  only  at  the  beginning  of 
her  third  year  of  liberty,  when,  in  spite  of  shifting  scenes, 
the  entire  absence  of  daily  cares  and  of  heavy  responsi 
bilities  involving  another  had  given  her  longer  hours  for 
thought  and  introspection,  that  the  poisonous  doubt  of  the 
use  of  it  all  had  begun  to  work  in  a  mind  that  had  lost 
something  of  the  ardor  of  novelty.  The  eternal  interroga 
tions  had  obtruded  themselves  in  her  unfortunate  girlhood, 
and  she  had  questioned  the  voiceless  infinite,  but  angrily, 
with  youth's  blind  rebellion  against  the  injustice  of  life. 
The  anger  and  rebellion  had  been  comatose  in  these  years 
of  freedom,  but  the  maturer  brain  was  the  more  uneasy, 
at  times  appalled.  For  what  was  she  developing,  per 
fecting  herself?  She  had  no  talent,  with  its  constant 
promises,  its  occasional  triumphs,  its  stimulating  rivalries, 
to  give  zest  to  life;  and  there  were  times  when  she  envied 
the  student  girls  in  Munich  with  their  absurd  "reform 
dress,"  their  cigarettes  and  beer  in  cheap  restaurants  and 
theatres,  their  more  than  doubtful  standards.  Although 
she  had  her  own  private  faith  and  never  hesitated  to  pray 
for  anything  she  wanted,  she  was  not  of  those  that  can 
make  a  career  of  religion;  her  mind  and  temperament  were 

58 


A       N       C       E    _^S TORS 

both  too  complex,  and  she  was  unable  to  interest  herself 
in  creeds  and  theologies — and  congregations. 

Now  and  again  she  had  considered  seriously  the  study 
of  medicine,  architecture,  law,  of  perfecting  herself  for 
criticism  of  some  sort,  for  she  had  spoken  with  a  measure 
of  truth  when  she  had  assured  Flora  that  she  had  no  wish 
to  marry.  In  her  depths  she  was — had  been — romantic 
and  given  to  dreaming,  but  the  manifold  weaknesses  of 
her  father — who  had  been  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and 
accomplished  of  men,  a  graduate  of  Harvard,  and  the 
possessor  of  many  books — and  the  selfish  and  tyrannous 
exactions  which  had  tempered  his  enthusiasm  for  all  things 
feminine,  the  caustic  tongue  and  overbearing  masculinity 
of  her  uncle,  who  had  been  as  weak  in  his  way  as  her 
father,  for  he  had  lost  the  greater  part  of  his  patrimony  on 
the  stock-market,  and  the  charming  inconsequence  of  her 
brother-in-law,  who  loved  his  family  extravagantly  and 
treated  them  like  poor  relations,  had  not  prepared  her  to 
idealize  the  young  men  she  had  met  in  Rosewater  and 
Europe.  She  had  been  sought  and  attracted  more  than 
once  during  her  years  of  liberty,  but  her  prejudices  and  the 
deep  cold  surface  of  temperament  peculiar  to  American 
girls  of  the  best  class,  lent  a  fatal  clarity  of  vision;  and  al 
though  she  had  studied  men  as  deeply  as  she  dared,  the 
result  had  but  intensified  the  sombre  threat  of  the  future. 
It  was  quite  true  that  she  had  half-consciously  believed 
that  hope  would  live  again  and  justify  itself  in  Elton 
Gwynne,  and  the  disappointment,  at  the  first  glimpse  of 
his  portrait,  was  so  crushing  that  she  had  buried  her  sex 
under  an  avalanche  of  scorn. 

But  scorn  is  far  more  volcanic  than  glacial  and  a  poor 
barrier  between  sex  and  judgment.  It  needed  more  than 

59 


A       N       C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

that,  and  more  than  disillusions  of  the  second  class,  no 
matter  how  inordinate,  to  give  a  girl  the  cool  reality  of  poise 
that  had  stimulated  the  curiosity  of  Miss  Thangue;  and 
this  Isabel  had  encountered,  during  the  most  critical 
period  of  her  inner  life,  in  the  beautiful  city  by  the  Isar. 
The  experience  had  been  so  brief  and  tremendous,  the  in 
cidents  so  crowding  and  tense,  the  climax  so  hideous,  that 
she  had  been  stunned  for  a  time,  then  emerged  into  her 
present  state  of  tranquil  and  not  unpleasant  philosophy — 
when  the  present  moment,  if  it  contained  distraction,  was 
something  to  be  grateful  for;  otherwise,  to  be  borne  with 
until  the  sure  compensation  arrived.  The  future  had  nei 
ther  terror  for  her  nor  any  surpassing  concern,  although 
all  her  old  impersonal  interest  in  life  had  revived,  and  she 
was  still  too  young  not  to  be  very  much  like  other  girls 
when  circumstances  were  propitious.  And  at  last  she  had 
conceived — or  evolved — -a  definite  purpose. 

This  morning  she  was  living  as  eagerly  as  ever  during 
her  first  deep  months  in  Europe.  The  excitement  of  the 
evening  still  possessed  her;  she  had  held  her  own,  received 
homage,  lived  a  little  chapter  in  an  English  novel;  above 
all,  she  was  young,  she  was  free,  she  was  no  longer  unhappy; 
and  she  loved  the  early  morning  and  swift  walking. 

It  was  Sunday;  the  shooting  would  not  begin  until  the 
morrow;  everybody  except  herself,  apparently,  still  slept; 
the  breakfast-hour  was  half-past  nine.  She  walked  down 
a  long  lane  behind  the  lawns  and  entered  the  first  of  the 
coverts.  There  was  a  drowsy  whir  of  wings — once  — 
that  was  all.  There  was  a  glint  of  dancing  water  in  the 
heavier  shades,  a  rosy  light  beyond  the  farthest  of  the 
trees  in  the  little  wood  where  the  delicate  pendent  leaves 
hung  asleep  in  the  sweet  peace.  There  was  not  an  ex- 

60 


A      N      C      E      S       T      O       R       S 

piring  echo  of  her  own  wild  forests  here;  nor  any  likeness 
to  the  splendid  royal  preserves  of  Germany  and  Austria, 
with  their  ancient  trees,  their  miles  of  garnished  floor,  the 
sudden  glimpse  of  chamois  or  stag  standing  on  a  rocky 
ledge  against  the  sky  as  if  drilled  for  his  part.  These 
woods  had  a  quality  all  their  own:  of  Nature  in  her  last 
little  strongholds,  but  smiling,  serenely  triumphant,  of 
tempered  heat  without  chill,  above  all,  of  perfect  peace. 

Nothing  in  England  had  impressed  Isabel  like  this 
atmosphere  of  peace  that  broods  over  its  fields  and  lanes, 
its  woods  and  fells,  in  the  evening  and  early  morning  hours; 
the  atmosphere  that  makes  it  seem  to  be  set  to  the  tune  of 
Wordsworth's  verses,  and  to  keep  it  everlastingly  old- 
fashioned  and  out  of  all  relation  to  its  towns.  As  she  left 
the  wood  she  saw  a  big  haystack,  as  firm  and  shapely  of 
outline  as  a  house,  not  a  loose  wisp  anywhere.  A  girl, 
bareheaded,  was  driving  a  cow  across  a  field.  A  narrow 
river  moved  as  slowly  as  if  the  world  had  never  awak 
ened.  The  road  turned  to  her  right  and  led  to  an  old 
stone  village  with  a  winding  broken  street  and  several 
oak-trees,  a  pump,  and  a  long  green  bench.  It  might 
have  been  the  Deserted  Village,  for  the  English  rise  far 
later  than  the  Southern  races  that  have  fallen  so  far 
behind  them  in  importance  and  wealth.  Beyond  the 
village,  on  a  rise  of  ground,  was  the  church,  its  square 
gray  tower  crumbling  down  upon  its  ancient  graves.  In 
the  distance  were  farms,  coverts,  another  village,  a  gray 
spire  against  the  blossoming  red  of  the  sky;  and  over  all 
— peace — peace.  Had  anything  ever  really  disturbed  it  ? 
Would  there  ever  be  any  change  ?  England  had  been 
devastated  to  the  roots,  would  be  again,  no  doubt,  but 
unless  it  became  one  vast  London,  it  would  brood  on 

61 


A       N       C      E       S       T O_    R       S 

into  eternity  with  the  slight  defiant  smile  of  a  beautiful 
woman  in  an  enchanted  sleep. 

"Are  you,  too,  an  early  bird  ?" 

Isabel  flew  out  of  her  reverie.  Lady  Victoria  was  ap 
proaching  from  a  forking  road.  She  wore  a  short  skirt, 
leggings,  and  heavy  boots;  and  she  was  bright,  fresh,  almost 
rosy  from  swift  walking.  "  I  have  gone  five  miles  already," 
she  said,  smiling.  "But  I  believe  you  were  sauntering." 

"Only  just  now — to  absorb  it  all.  I,  too,  can  do  my  five 
miles  an  hour,  although  Californians  are  the  laziest  people 
in  the  world  about  walking." 

"Then  if  you  are  up  to  a  sharp  trot  we'll  go  to  that 
farthest  village.  My  land  steward  has  been  telling  me  a 
painful  tale  about  one  of  my  young  women,  and  I  intend 
to  ask  her  some  embarrassing  questions  wThile  she  is  still 
too  stupid  with  sleep  to  lie," 

"Your  young  women?     Is  all  this  your  estate?" 

"It  belongs  to  Strathland,  but  I  have  lived  here  since  I 
married,  and  now  the  place  is  virtually  Jack's.  These 
people  have  been  my  particular  charge  for  thirty  years 
and  will  continue  to  be  until  my  son  marries.  There  are 
only  about  a  hundred  families  on  the  estate  altogether, 
but  they  keep  one  busy." 

"  I  can't  imagine  you  in  the  working  role  of  the  Lady 
Bountiful.  Last  night,  at  least,  if  I  had  written  to  my 
friend,  Anabel  Colton,  I  should  have  devoted  pages  to  your 
more  famous  attributes,  but  I  should  never  have  thought 
of  this." 

"Indeed?  If  one  could  languish  through  life  in  the 
shell  of  a  mere  beauty  that  life  would  be  a  good  deal  sim 
pler  proposition  than  it  is.  Unfortunately  there  are  com 
plications,  and,  agreeable  or  not,  one  accepts  them  as  one 

62 


A       AT C^_E S       T       O       R       S 

does  enemies,  husbands,  stupid  servants,  and  all  other 
mortal  thorns.  But  I  am  not  uninterested  in  my  people 
here,  not  by  any  means,  and  they  bore  me  less  than  going 
to  court  and  visiting  my  father-in-law.  I  watch  them  from 
birth,  see  that  they  are  properly  clothed  and  fed,  that  they 
go  to  school  as  soon  as  they  are  old  enough,  later  that  they 
find  a  situation  here  or  elsewhere — those  that  have  no 
work  to  do  at  home.  My  son  gives  the  young  men  and 
women  a  complete  wardrobe  when  they  start  out  to  win 
their  way  in  life,  and  the  details  fall  on  me.  It  means  cor 
respondence,  mothers'  meetings,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Even  during  the  London  season  I  come  down  once  a  month. 
Of  course  it  is  a  bore,  but  on  Lhe  whole  tradition  is  rather 
kind  than  otherwise  in  making  life  more  or  less  of  a  routine." 

"Wouldn't  you  miss  it  if  your  son  married?"  Isabel 
wondered  if  this  woman  had  really  given  her  the  im 
pression  of  tragic  secrets,  unlimited  capacities  for  both 
license  and  arrogance.  In  this  early  morning  freshness 
there  was  hardly  a  suggestion  of  the  woman  of  the  world, 
barely  of  the  great  lady;  and  in  the  rich  tones  of  her  voice 
there  was  a  genuine  note  of  interest  in  her  poor. 

"Oh,  I  should  always  keep  an  eye  on  them;  young 
wives  have  so  many  distractions.  If  I  had  to  give  them 
up — yes,  of  course  it  would  mean  a  vacancy  in  my  collec 
tion  of  habits;  one  side  of  me  clings  strongly  to  traditions 
and  duty.  The  other — well,  I'd  like  to  be  a  free-lance  in 
the  world  for  a  while — although,"  she  added,  with  a  sharp 
intonation,  "I  don't  suppose  I  should  stay  away  from  Jack 
very  long.  It  is  a  great  relief  to  have  a  vital  interest  in  life 
outside  one's  self.  You,  of  course,  are  not  old  enough  to 
have  discovered  that;  and,  indeed,  I  am  not  always  so  sure 
that  it  is  possible." 

63 


ANCESTORS 

Isabel  did  not  ask  her  if  she  would  not  be  jealous  of  the 
wife  who  must,  if  he  loved  her,  take  the  greater  part  of  all 
that  her  "Jack"  had  to  give;  she  divined  in  this  many- 
sided  woman  a  quality  in  her  attitude  towards  her  son 
with  which  ordinary  maternal  affection  had  little  in  com 
mon  Her  fine  eyes  flashed  with  pride  at  the  mention  of 
his  name,  and  it  was  more  than  evident  that  he  was  her 
deep  and  abiding  interest;  but  this  keen  and  curious  young 
student  of  life  had  never  seen  any  one  less  maternal.  Lady 
Victoria's  attitude,  indeed,  might  as  reasonably  be  that  of 
a  proud  sister  or  wife.  When  he  was  beside  her  she  looked 
almost  commonplace  in  her  content.  The  moment  he 
passed  out  of  her  sight  some  phase  of  individuality  prompt 
ly  lit  its  torch.  Last  night  Isabel  had  seen  her  stand  for 
half  an  hour  as  motionless  as  some  ivory  female  Colossus, 
only  her  eyes  burning  down  with  slow  voluptuous  fire  upon 
an  adoring  little  Frenchman.  She  had  looked  like  a 
Messalina  petrified  with  the  complications  and  common 
ness  of  the  modern  world;  possibly  with  the  burden  of 
years,  Isabel  had  added,  in  girlish  intolerance  of  the  wiles 
of  which  youth  is  independent.  She  had  been  far  from 
falling  under  her  spell,  although  not  wholly  repelled  by  the 
glimpse  of  this  worst  side  of  a  woman  far  too  complex  to 
be  judged  off-hand.  This  morning  she  liked  her  sud 
denly  and  warmly,  and,  with  the  lightning  of  instinct, 
divined  why  she  worshipped  her  son  and  still  was  willing 
to  have  him  marry  and  swing  aside  into  an  orbit  of  his 
own.  All  she  needed  was  a  certain  amount  of  his  society, 
opportunities  to  work  for  him,  the  assurance  cf  his  suc 
cess  and  happiness.  He  was  a  refuge  from  herself;  in  his 
imperious  demands  her  memory  slept,  her  depths  were 
stagnant.  But  Isabel  was  still  too  young,  in  spite  of  her 


A       AT      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

own  experience,  more  than  dimly  to  apprehend  the  older 
woman's  attitude,  and  the  innumerable  and  various  acts 
and  sufferings,  disenchantments  and  contacts  that  had 
led  up  to  it.  Victoria  seemed  to  her  the  most  rounded 
mortal  she  had  met,  and  yet  with  an  insistent  terror  in  the 
depths  of  her  riven  and  courageous  soul,  the  terror  of  the 
complete,  the  final  disillusion.  Between  that  moment  and 
her  too  exhaustive  knowledge  of  life  stood  the  magnetic 
figure  of  her  son,  safeguarding,  almost  hypnotizing  her. 
She  was  as  incapable  of  jealousy  as  of  aching  vanity  in  the 
fact  of  a  son  whom  the  world  was  never  permitted  to  forget. 
She  had  done  with  little  things,  and  Isabel,  with  young 
curiosity,  wondered  in  what  convulsion  the  last  of  them 
had  gone  down. 

Lady  Victoria,  unconscious  of  the  analytical  mind  grop 
ing  to  conclusions  beside  her,  was  revolving  the  midnight 
comments  of  Flora  Thangue,  and  her  own  impressions  of 
this  American  relative  whose  sudden  advent,  taken  in  con 
nection  with  her  eighteenth  century  beauty  and  unde 
cipherable  quality,  wrought  the  impression  of  a  symbolic 
figure  swimming  out  of  space.  Lady  Victoria  was  far  too 
indifferent  to  analyze  the  problems  of  any  woman's  soul, 
but  she  was  keenly  alive  to  the  vital  suggestion  of  power 
in  the  girl,  and  of  the  strong  will  and  intellect,  the  com 
mand  over  every  faculty,  evidenced  in  the  strong  line  of 
the  jaw,  the  stern  noble  profile,  the  calm  searching  gaze  so 
difficult  to  sustain.  None  knew  better  than  Victoria  the 
value  and  rarity  of  a  free  and  courageous  soul.  Such  a 
woman  must,  when  more  fully  developed,  throw  the  whole 
weight  of  her  character  into  the  scales  balancing  for  the 
few  whom  she  recognized  as  equals  and  accepted  as 
friends.  If  she  had  had  "some  smashing  love  affair," 

65 


ANCESTOR       S 

as  the  more  romantic  Flora  suggested,  so  much  the 
better. 

She  said,  with  a  perfectly  simulated  impulsiveness: 

"Of  course  you  understand  that  I  meant  what  I  said 
last  evening.  And  not  merely  a  week;  you  must  pay  us 
a  long  visit,  if  it  won't  bore  you.  But  the  house  will 
rarely  be  empty  now  that  the  shooting  has  begun,  and 
there  is  always  something  going  on  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  Later  comes  the  hunting,  and  I  am  sure  you 
ride." 

"Oh  yes,  I  ride!  I  have  spent  about  half  my  life  on  a 
horse.  I  want  to  stay  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  but  before 
long  I  must  go  home.  The  same  safe  old  bank  that  has 
charge  of  your  ranches  looks  after  my  small  affairs,  and  I 
have  a  man  on  the  farm  that  has  been  in  the  family  for 
forty  years;  otherwise  I  should  never  have  dared  to  leave 
my  precious  chickens;  but  Mr.  Colton  writes  me  that  Mac 
is  failing,  and  before  the  rainy  season  commences  I  must 
look  into  things  myself." 

"Chickens?"  said  Lady  Victoria,  much  amused.  "Do 
you  raise  chickens  ?" 

"Rather;  and  not  in  the  back  yard,  neither.  I  have 
about  a  thousand  of  the  most  beautiful  snow-white  Leg 
horns  with  blood-red  combs  you  ever  saw;  and  I  have  in 
cubators,  runs,  colony-houses,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  They 
are  raised  on  the  strictest  scientific  principles  and  yield  me 
the  greater  part  of  my  income.  That  is  the  reason  I  feel 
obliged  to  return — if  Mac  is  no  longer  able — or  willing — 
to  get  up  at  night.  One  must  not  neglect  the  chicks — the 
little  ones.  I  doubt  if  real  babies  are  more  trouble.  I 
don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  have  resolved  to  make  a 
fortune  out  of  chickens,  if  only  that  I  may  be  able  to  live 

66 


ANCESTORS 

as  I  should  in  San  Francisco.  But  I  must  go  back  and 
do  the  greater  part  of  the  work  myself. " 

"Make  a  fortune — out  of  chickens!  How  odd  that 
sounds!  Not  in  the  least  romantic,  but  rather  the  more 
interesting  for  that.  But  why  don't  you  let  your  ranch 
for  dairy  and  grazing  purposes,  as  we  do  ?  They  bring 
us  in  a  very  good  income — have  done,  so  far." 

"There  are  about  nineteen  thousand  acres  in  Lumalitas, 
and  some  forty  thousand  in  the  southern  ranch.  I  possess 
exactly  three  hundred  and  thirty-two,  forty-five  of  which 
are  marsh.  You  have  now  nearly  the  whole  of  the  original 
grants,  for  as  my  father  and  uncle  sold  or  mortgaged  por 
tions — and  could  not  pay — your  agents  bought  in.  You 
may  remember." 

"There  is  seldom  any  correspondence.  Mr.  Colton  has 
always  had  a  free  hand — yes — I  do  recall — vaguely.  So 
I  am  profiting  at  your  expense.  I  am  afraid  that  must 
seem  unjust  to  you." 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  did  not  choose  my  paternal  rel 
atives,  but  I  long  since  accepted  them  with  philosophy. 
I  am  thankful  to  have  anything.  Why  don't  you  go  to 
California  and  look  at  your  property  ? — live  on  it  for  a  few 
years  ?  You  could  make  far  more  out  of  it  if  you  ran  it 
yourself.  The  lease  of  Lumalitas  must  expire  very  soon. 
I  do  wish  you  would  come  and  pay  me  a  visit,  and — Mr. — 
what  on  earth  am  I  to  call  him  ?" 

"Jack,  of  course,"  said  Lady  Victoria,  warmly,  although 
she  would  have  been  swift  to  resent  the  liberty  had  the  new 
relative  been  so  indiscreet. 

"I  never  could  manage  Jack — never!  I  can't  feel,  see 
him,  as  Jack.  I  think  Cousin  Elton  will  do." 

"Quite  so.     I  shouldn't  wonder  at  all  if  we  went.    Jack 

6? 


ANCESTOR       S 

is  rather  keen  on  American  politics,  knows  his  Bryce — I 
suppose  it  is  in  the  blood.  He  even  takes  in  an  American 
Review.  I  have  always  rather  wanted  to  visit  California, 
and  started  for  it  once  upon  a  time — on  my  wedding 
journey.  But  we  were  entertained  so  delightfully  in  New 
York  and  Washington  that  before  we  realized  what  an 
American  summer  meant  it  was  too  hot  to  cross  the  con 
tinent,  and  we  accepted  an  invitation  to  the  Adirondacks, 
intending  to  return  to  England  in  the  course  of  a  month. 
But  Arthur  broke  his  leg,  and  by  the  time  he  was  well 
again  it  was  not  safe  for  me  to  travel.  So  we  rented  a 
place  in  Virginia,  where  there  was  good  sport,  and  there 
Jack  was  born.  Here  we  are.  Rest  under  that  tree  while 
I  interview  the  erring  maiden." 


VII 


ISABEL  sat  on  the  bench  under  an  ancient  oak  for 
half  an  hour  or  more,  but  took  no  note  of  the  time. 
In  rural  America  one  always  seems  to  hear  the  whir  of 
distant  machinery  and  responds  to  its  tensity  in  the  depths 
of  some  nerve  centre;  but  in  England's  open  the  tendency 
is  to  dream  away  the  hours,  the  nerves  as  blunt  as  in  the 
tropics;  unless,  indeed,  one  happens  to  be  so  astir  within 
that  one  rebels  in  responding,  and  conceives  of  ultimate 
hatred  for  this  incompassionate  arrogant  peace  of  England. 
Isabel  had  been  roused  from  her  mood  of  unreasoning 
content  by  her  contact  with  the  older  woman,  but  for  a 
few  moments  her  thoughts  waved  to  and  fro  in  that  large 
tranquillity  like  pendent  moss  in  a  gentle  breeze.  There 
was  a  stir  of  life  in  the  little  village;  a  window  was  thrown 
open;  a  man  came  out  to  the  pump  and  filled  a  bucket  with 
water;  a  child  cried  for  its  breakfast;  the  birds  were  sing 
ing  in  the  trees.  But  they  barely  rippled  the  calm. 
Isabel's  eyes  dwelt  absently  upon  a  white  line  along  a 
distant  hill-top,  made,  no  doubt,  by  Caesar's  troops;  for 
she  had  heard  that  the  mosaic  floors  of  Roman  houses  had 
been  discovered  under  one  of  the  fields  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  This  information,  imparted  by  Lord  Hexam's 
cousin,  Mrs.  Throfton,  a  lady  interested  in  neither  Bridge 
nor  gossip,  had  not  excited  her  as  it  might  have  done  be 
fore  her  archaeological  experience  at  headquarters,  but  she 


ANCESTORS 

was  glad  to  recall  it  now,  for  that  white  road,  sharply  in 
sistent  in  the  surrounding  green,  was  one  of  the  perceptible 
vincula  of  history. 

It  was  all  old — old — old;  an  illimitable  backward  vista. 
And  she  was  as  new,  as  out  of  tune  with  it  as  the  motor 
car  flashing  like  a  lost  and  distracted  comet  along  that  hill 
top  in  a  cloud  of  historied  dust:  she  with  her  problems,  her 
egoisms,  the  fateful  independence  of  the  modern  girl. 
In  a  fashion  she  was  one  of  the  chosen  of  earth,  but  she 
doubted  if  the  women  who  had  toiled  in  these  villages,  or 
in  centuries  past  had  lived  their  lives  in  the  mansions  of 
their  indubious  lords,  had  not  had  greater  compensations 
than  she.  Unbroken  monotony  and  a  saving  sense  of  the 
inevitable  must  in  time  create  for  the  soul  something  of 
the  illimitable  horizon  of  the  vast  level  spaces  of  the  earth. 

And  she  ?  At  twenty-five  she  had  lost  her  old  habit 
of  staring  with  veiled  eyes  into  some  sweet  ambiguous 
future,  her  girlish  intensity  of  emotion.  But  her  theories, 
in  general,  were  sound,  and  she  had  ticketed  even  her 
minor  experiences.  She  knew  that  character  was  the 
most  significant  of  all  individual  forces,  and  that  if  de 
veloped  in  strict  adjustment  to  the  highest  demands  of 
society,  dragging  strength  out  of  the  powers  of  the  universe, 
were  it  not  inborn,  the  book  of  one's  objective  future  at 
least  need  never  be  closed  prematurely  by  those  inexorable 
social  forces,  which,  whatever  the  weak  spots  on  the  sur 
face  of  life,  invariably  place  a  man  in  the  end  according  to 
his  deserts.  She  had  seen  her  father,  with  all  his  ad 
vantages  of  birth  and  talents,  and  early  importance  in  the 
community,  gradually  shunned,  shelved,  dismissed  from 
the  daily  life  of  steadier  if  less  gifted  men,  almost  unknown 
to  the  young  generation.  He  had  clung  to  certain  strict 

70 


ANCESTORS 

notions  of  honor  through  it  all,  however,  and  at  his  death 
the  county  had  experienced  a  spasm  of  remorse  and  at 
tended  his  funeral;  the  sermon  had  been  eloquent  with 
masterly  omissions,  and  even  the  newspaper  that  had 
vilified  him  in  his  days  of  political  influence  came  out  with 
an  obituary,  which,  when  included  in  some  future  county 
history,  would  give  to  posterity  quite  as  good  an  impression 
of  him  as  he  deserved. 

And  James  Otis  had  had  his  virtues.  One  of  his 
claims  to  redemption  survived  in  his  daughter.  He  had 
reared  her  in  the  strict  principles  and  precepts  of  his  New 
England  ancestors,  many  of  which  are  generally  more 
useful  in  the  life  of  a  man.  This  early  instillation,  taken 
in  connection  with  himself  as  a  commanding  illustration 
in  subcontraries,  had  given  Isabel  a  directness  of  vision 
invaluable  to  a  girl  in  no  haste  to  place  her  life  in  stronger 
hands.  Whatever  her  dissatisfactions  and  disillusions, 
her  road  lay  along  the  upper  reaches;  the  second  rate,  the 
failures  from  birth,  the  criminal  classes,  far  below.  Her 
start  in  life  was  indefectible,  and  she  knew  that  did  the 
necessity  arise  to-morrow  she  could  support  herself  and 
ask  no  quarter. 

Perhaps,  she  mused,  she  would  be  happier  in  the  neces 
sity,  for  the  problem  of  roof  and  bread  is  an  abiding  sub 
stitute  for  the  problem  of  what  to  do  with  one's  life.  But 
she  had  never  known  an  anxious  moment  regarding  the 
bare  necessities,  and  although  there  was  something  pleas 
antly  stimulating  in  the  prospect  of  making  a  fortune  and 
being  able  to  live  as  she  wished  in  the  city  of  her  birth — 
the  only  object  for  which  she  retained  any  passion  in  her 
affections — she  smiled  somewhat  cynically  at  the  modest 
outlook. 

71 


ANCESTORS 

Environments  like  the  present  were  uplifting,  almost 
deindividualizing,  and  there  had  been  a  time  when  she 
had  known  seconds  in  the  face  of  nature's  surprises  that 
were  distinct  spiritual  experiences.  She  believed  they 
would  return  when  she  was  in  her  own  land  once  more, 
and  Europe  a  book  of  fading  memories.  Her  love  of 
beauty  at  least  was  as  keen  as  ever,  and  now  that  Europe 
was  off  her  mind,  leaving  the  proper  sense  of  surfeit  be 
hind  it,  no  doubt  she  would  have  a  sense  of  actually  be 
ginning  life  when  the  time  came  to  take  an  active  part  in  it, 
and  she  assumed  a  position  of  some  importance  in  her  own 
community.  She  was  far  too  sensible  for  ingratitude,  and 
fully  appreciated  the  gifts  that  life  had  so  liberally  dealt 
her.  And  she  fully  believed  in  work  as  the  universal 
panacea.  The  mere  thought  of  a  busy  future  brought  a 
glow  to  her  heart.  She  rose  with  a  smile  as  Lady  Victoria 
emerged  from  the  cottage  at  the  upper  end  of  the  village. 

Lady  Victoria  was  not  smiling.  Her  brows  were  drawn, 
and  she  looked  angry  and  contemptuous. 

"The  little  idiot!"  she  exclaimed,  as  they  started  briskly 
for  home.  "This  is  the  first  failure  I  have  had  in  ten 
years.  That  is  one  of  my  boasts.  And  I  took  particular 
pains  with  that  girl.  Now  Jack  will  have  the  agreeable 
task  of  coercing  the  man  into  marrying  her,  for  it  appears 
that  his  ardor  has  cooled." 

Her  brow  cleared  in  a  few  moments,  but  she  seemed  to 
have  had  enough  of  conversation,  and  it  was  evident  that 
words  for  words'  sake,  or  as  a  flimsy  chain  between  sign 
posts  of  genuine  interest,  had  no  place  in  her  social  rubric. 
Isabel,  who  was  equally  indifferent,  strode  along  beside 
her  without  so  much  as  a  comment,  and  so  confirmed 
the  good  impression  she  had  made  on  her  mettlesome 

72 


A     N     —  JL  --  —    —  _*_  _5 

relative.  As  they  approached  the  house,  Lady  Victoria 
turned  to  her  with  a  smile  that  brought  sweetness  to  her 
eyes  rather  than  any  one  of  her  more  dazzling  qualities. 
"  I  am  generally  in  my  boudoir  at  five,"  she  said.  "Come 
in  this  afternoon  for  a  chat  before  tea,  if  you  have  nothing 
better  to  do.  Now  run  and  get  ready  for  breakfast." 


VIII 


WHETHER  or  not  Mr.  Gwynne  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  follow  his  mother's  advice  and  employ  a  new 
weapon  in  his  siege  of  Mrs.  Kaye,  or  whether,  like  common 
mortals,  he  was  subject  to  the  natural  impulses  of  youth, 
the  most  novel  of  the  guests  of  Capheaton  found  her 
self  on  his  right  in  the  informality  of  breakfast,  and 
the  object  of  his  solicitude.  He  fetched  her  bacon  and 
toast  from  the  sideboard,  and  when  he  discovered  that 
she  did  not  like  cream  in  her  tea,  carried  her  cup  back  to 
his  mother  and  waited  for  the  more  pungent  substitute. 
And  then  he  actually  made  an  effort  to  entertain  her. 
There  was  a  flicker  of  surprised  amusement  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  but  Isabel  accepted  his  attentions  as  a  matter  of 
course,  assuming  that  the  young  gentleman  felt  refreshed 
after  a  night's  rest  in  his  own  bed,  or  had  awakened  to  a 
sense  of  her  importance  as  a  member  of  his  family.  It 
was  not  until  she  caught  Mrs.  Kaye's  eye  and  read  a  con 
temptuous  power  to  retaliate,  that  she  experienced  a 
certain  zest  in  the  situation.  With  the  magnetism  of  in 
telligent  interest  in  her  own  eyes,  she  turned  to  Gwynne 
with  a  question  that  betrayed  a  flattering  acquaintance 
with  one  of  his  less  popular  books,  then  hung  upon  the 
monologue  of  which  he  promptly  delivered  himself.  It 
was  characteristic  that  he  either  contributed  little  to  the 
conversation  or  monopolized  it;  and  he  reflected,  as  he 

74 


&    •  N      C       E       S    JT__O__R__  _S 

talked  of  the  personal  experience  which  led  up  to  the 
episode  of  her  interest,  that  he  had  never  before  gazed 
into  eyes  at  once  so  lovely  and  so  fine.  He  disliked 
American  girls,  partly  because  they  had  shown  no  dis 
position  to  join  the  ranks  of  those  that  lived  to  spoil  him, 
partly  because  he  believed  them  to  be  shallow  and  cold. 
Some  of  the  married  women  had  attracted  him,  but  not 
before  they  had  lived  long  enough  to  develop  the  stronger 
qualities  of  the  older  races;  he  had  his  ideals  and  was  not 
easily  satisfied.  He  was  deeply  in  love  with  Mrs.  Kaye, 
for  her  brilliant  subtle  mind  and  powerful  appeal  to  his 
passions  had  blinded  him  to  her  defects,  and  he  was  con 
vinced  that  his  heart  had  travelled  to  its  predestined  goal. 
Nevertheless,  he  decided  that  his  new  cousin,  if  as  cold 
as  the  rest  of  her  youthful  compatriots,  was  worth  cul 
tivating  for  her  intelligence  and  obvious  talent  for  good- 
comradeship. 

But  in  a  moment  a  subject  was  started  that  entirely 
diverted  his  mind  and  upset  the  lively  tenor  of  the  break 
fast-table. 

"  Where  is  Lorcutt  ?"  asked  some  one,  abruptly,  referring 
to  a  brother  of  Lord  Brathland,  \vho  had  lost  heavily  and 
cheerfully  at  Bridge  the  night  before. 

Isabel's  eyes  happened  to  have  wandered  to  the  face 
of  the  man  opposite.  To  her  surprise  it  became  livid.  He 
turned  instantly  to  Gwynne,  however,  and  said:  "I  should 
have  told  you — I  quite  forgot — he  asked  me  to  make  his 
excuses.  He  got  a  telegram — bad  news — Bratty  is  dead." 

Involuntarily  Isabel  glanced  at  Mrs.  Kaye;  Flora  had 
hinted  to  her  of  the  lady's  designs.  That  face  for  once  was 
ghastly  and  unmasked,  but  the  eyes  were  not  glittering 
with  grief. 

s  75 


ANCESTORS 

"Impossible!"  she  cried,  sharply.  "Lord  Brathland  ? 
Why— I  saw  him  only  two  days  ago,  in  London.  He  was 
as  well  as  possible." 

The  others  barely  noticed  her.  Their  astonished  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  first  speaker,  Captain  Ormond,  who  was 
sitting  very  erect,  as  if  to  receive  the  questions  fired  at  him 
as  a  brave  man  faces  the  hiss  of  lead  on  the  field. 

"I  know  little,"  he  replied;  "except  that  Brathland  was 
suddenly  attacked  by  appendicitis  two  nights  ago  and  that 
an  operation  was  immediately  performed— 

"Friday  night!"  cried  Mrs.  Kaye.  "Why  he  spent  an 
hour  with  me  that  afternoon,  and  was  to  dine  with  Lord 
Zeal  and  Lord  Raglin  and  half  a  dozen  other  men  that 
night — they  all  came  up  to  London  to  talk  over  one  of 
Sir  Cadge  Vanneck's  mines.  Why — I  remember  you  were 
to  be  there.  Surely  Lord  Brathland  was  well  then  ?" 

"He  was  looking  very  seedy  when  he  came  in.  I  hap 
pened  to  sit  next  to  him — told  him  he  ought  to  go  home. 
Finally  he  got  so  bad  he  decided  that  he  would,  and  as  he 
left  the  table  he  fainted.  Several  of  us  saw  him  to  bed. 
He  said  he  didn't  want  his  family  fidgeting  him,  and  the 
surgeon  said  he  would  be  all  right  in  a  few  days.  I 
thought  he  was  out  of  danger  when  I  came  down  last  night, 
so  said  nothing  about  it  to  Harold." 

"Was  he  taken  home  ?"  asked  Gwynne,  whose  eyes  had 
never  left  Ormond's  face. 

"No — to  Raglin's  room  up-stairs.  The  dinner  was  at 
the  Club." 

"I  cannot  understand  why  his  family  was  not  summoned 
at  the  last!"  exclaimed  Lady  Victoria. 

"Well,  there's  only  the  old  duke  and  Harold,  you  see. 
Dick  is  out  in  Africa.  I  suppose  they  didn't  want  to 

76 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

agitate  the  duke  until  the  last  moment  and  couldn't  find 
Harold  until  this  morning.  Besides,  Raglin  was  with  him, 
and  he  is  a  relative,  at  least.  It  is  awfully  sudden.  I 
have  been  upset  ever  since  Harold  woke  me  up  this  morn 
ing  and  told  me;  and  hated  to  speak  of  it." 

"Who  was  the  surgeon?"  asked  Gwynne. 

"Ballast." 

"Ballast?  Who  is  he?  Why  not  one  of  the  big  men, 
in  heaven's  name  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Kaye. 

"Well — they  were  all  out  of  town — naturally  enough  at 
this  time  of  year.  We  had  to  take  what  we  could  get. 
No  doubt  Lester  or  Masten  was  telegraphed  for  later. 
I — all  of  us — left  the  affair  in  Raglin's  hands." 

The  company  broke  into  general  comment,  and  under 
cover  of  the  confusion  Isabel  distinctly  heard  Gwynne 
demand: 

"What's  up  your  sleeve,  Ormond  ?" 

And  the  response:  "For  God's  sake,  old  chap,  don't 
ask!" 


IX 


G WYNNE  had  never  recognized  the  contingency  of  a 
serious  rival  in  the  affections  of  the  woman  he  had 
elected  to  mate,  and  had  he  heard  of  the  late  Lord 
Brathland's  attentions  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  him 
that  Mrs.  Kaye  could  weigh  a  prospective  dukedom 
against  the  reflected  glories  of  his  own  career.  He  in 
tended  to  be  prime-minister  before  he  was  forty,  and  older 
and  soberer  heads  shared  his  confidence.  It  was  true 
that  Mrs.  Kaye  was  an  emphatic  Conservative — scorning 
even  the  compromise  of  Liberal-Unionism — and  that  so 
far  he  had  been  unable  to  convert  her;  but  he  did  not  take 
any  woman's  political  convictions  very  seriously,  knowing 
that  they  commonly  owed  their  inspiration  to  social  am 
bition,  a  desire  for  a  career,  or  to  marital  comradeship. 
The  latter  he  made  no  doubt  would  operate  in  his  own  case 
as  soon  as  the  lady  gave  him  the  opportunity  to  demand  it 
as  his  right;  and  his  sharp  political  discussions  with  her 
were  among  the  spiciest  of  his  experiences.  She  rarely 
expressed  herself  in  every-day  language;  and  although  it 
had  crossed  his  mind  that  epigrammatic  matrimony  might 
grow  oppressive,  he  had  reminded  himself  that  her  speech 
was  but  a  part  of  a  too  cultivated  individuality  and  would 
be  unable  to  endure  the  strain  of  daily  intercourse.  Al 
though  he  had  in  his  composition  little  of  the  femininity 
that  gives  a  certain  type  of  man  a  sympathetic  compre- 

78 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O     ^R 5 

hension  of  women,  his  Celtic  blood  imparted  a  subtle  un 
derstanding  of  their  foibles  of  which  he  was  but  half  aware. 
More  than  once  this  subconscious  penetration  had  in 
duced  a  speedy  recovery  from  misplaced  affections;  but 
the  toils  of  Julia  Kaye,  who  piqued,  allured,  repelled, 
dazzled,  now  and  again  snubbed  every  one  else  for  his  sake, 
bound  him  helpless.  He  was  grateful  for  his  mother's 
abetment,  although  it  somewhat  surprised  him;  but  his 
mother  was  the  woman  of  whom  he  had  the  least  compre 
hension. 

So  far  Mrs.  Kaye  had  ignored  his  several  proposals,  but 
of  this  he  thought  nothing.  He  would  have  cared  little 
for  a  woman  to  be  had  for  the  asking;  and  he  rather  wel 
comed  any  treatment  that  stirred  the  somewhat  sluggish 
surfaces  of  his  nature. 

He  had  determined,  however,  to  force  a  definite  answer 
from  her  during  this  visit,  and  although  he  was  far  too 
courteous  a  host  to  embarrass  a  guest,  he  knew  that  were 
Mrs.  Kaye  deliberately  to  grant  him  a  private  interview  he 
should  be  at  liberty  to  press  his  suit. 

Immediately  after  the  hour  in  the  smoking-room  that 
followed  breakfast,  he  started  in  search  of  her;  but  al 
though  many  of  the  women  were  scattered  throughout  the 
lower  rooms,  reading,  writing,  gossiping,  he  saw  nothing 
of  his  inamorata.  Flora  Thangue  happened  to  be  stand 
ing  alone,  and  he  went  up  to  her  impulsively. 

"Do  you  know  if  Julia  has  gone  to  church  ?"  he  asked, 
without  circumlocution. 

"She  went  to  her  room  directly  after  breakfast.  I  fancy 
she  is  rather  cut  up  over  Lord  Brathland's  death,"  replied 
the  astute  Miss  Thangue. 

"Of  course;  we  all  are — poor  Bratty!  He  was  rather  a 

79 


A      N_    C       E_    S      T_  _O     Jl       S 

bounder,,  but  it  is  natural  to  recall  his  virtues.  Flora,  go 
and  tell  her  I  want  her  to  come  for  a  walk.  I  can't  go  to 
her  room  myself,  and  I  don't  care  to  send  a  servant." 

Miss  Thangue  reflected.  Probably  this  was  the  most 
favorable  moment  for  a  repulse  that  he  could  have  chosen. 
She  was  sincerely  fond  of  him  and  distrusted  Mrs.  Kaye 
as  much  as  she  disliked  her. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.     "I  will  see  what  I  can  do." 

Mrs.  Kaye  admitted  her  promptly  and  presented  an  un 
stained  front,  although  her  color  was  lower  than  usual. 
She  was  a  woman  of  too  much  natural  and  acquired  poise 
to  remain  askew  under  any  shock.  But  she  had  expe 
rienced  an  hour  of  mixed  emotions  in  which  a  confused 
and  wondering  sense  of  defeat  was  paramount.  It  had 
left  her  a  little  aghast,  for  although  she  had  met  with  the 
inevitable  snubs  in  her  upward  course,  she  rarely  permitted 
them  to  agitate  her  memory  in  these  days  when  she  had 
grown  to  believe  herself  one  of  the  spoiled  favorites  of 
destiny;  and  her  fibres  were  by  no  means  sensitive.  But 
this  sudden  blow  was  a  reminder  that  fate  had  been 
capricious  to  spoiled  darlings  before.  She  had  stood  al 
most  motionless  before  the  window  from  the  moment  she 
had  entered  her  room  until  Miss  Thangue  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  by  that  time  she  had  repoised  herself  and 
set  her  heavy  mouth  in  a  hard  line  as  she  reflected  upon  her 
own  will  as  a  factor  in  any  game  with  life. 

"Jack  wants  you  to  go  for  a  walk,"  announced  Miss 
Thangue,  who  saw  no  occasion  for  subtlety. 

"That  means  he  intends  to  propose  again,"  said  Mrs. 
Kaye,  in  her  carefully  modulated  voice.  "I  don't  know 
that  I  care  about  it.  I  have  letters  to  write." 

"Why  not  get  it  over?  You  could  compel  him  to 

80 


ANCESTORS 

believe,  if  you  chose,  that  you  have  no  intention  of  marry 
ing  him,  and  it  would  be  rather  a  kindness;  he  has  so  much 
else  to  think  about,  and  he  certainly  should  have  a  free 
mind  before  the  opening  of  Parliament.  If  you  really  did 
Jack  any  harm,"  she  added,  deliberately,  "Vicky  would 
never  forgive  you — nor  a  good  many  others." 

"I  wouldn't  do  him  any  harm  for  the  world,"  said  Mrs. 
Kaye,  casting  down  her  eyes  and  looking  very  young  and 
innocent.  "But  I  should  hate  to  give  him  up.  After 
all,  there  is  no  one  half  so  interesting.  Well,  I'll  go  down 
and  have  it  over." 

A  few  moments  later  she  joined  Gwynne  at  the  foot  of 
the  staircase,  and  they  went  out  to  the  woods.  She 
looked  her  best  in  a  smart  walking-frock  of  white  tweed, 
and  a  red  toque;  for  the  tailor  costume  modifies  where  the 
elaborate  accentuates. 

Her  brilliant  eyes  melted  as  Brathland's  name  was 
mentioned;  naturally  at  once. 

"What  a  dreadful — shocking  thing!"  she  cried.  "I  do 
not  realize  it  at  all.  Poor  dear,  we  were  such  friends — 
and  I  saw  him  only  a  few  hours  before.  Have  you  heard 
anything  more  ?" 

"Ormond  ran  off  to  town  directly  after  breakfast — as 
if  he  were  afraid  of  being  asked  too  many  questions.  I 
have  an  idea  that  he  kept  the  cat  in  the  bag.  I  saw  my 
cousin  Zeal  yesterday,  and  thought  he  looked  as  if  he  had 
something  besides  his  health  on  his  mind." 

"Why  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Kaye,  startled.  "What  else  could 
it  be  ?" 

"Well,  Bratty  was  rather  a  flasher,"  said  Gwynne,  in 
nocently.  "The  dinner  may  not  have  been  at  the  Club 
at  all,  and  there  is  a  little  chorus-girl  that  engaged  the 


ANCESTORS 

fickle  Bratty's  affections  for  a  time,  and  proclaimed  her 
desire  for  vengeance  from  the  house-tops  when  he  trans 
ferred  himself  to  a  rival  at  the  Adelphi.  She  is  a  Neapoli 
tan,  and  that  sort  may  carry  a  stiletto  even  in  prosaic  old 
London.  Or  perhaps  poor  Bratty  was  despatched  with 
the  carving-knife.  No  wonder  he  didn't  want  his  family. 
But  whatever  it  was,  he  has  paid  the  penalty  himself,  poor 
chap,  and  no  doubt  the  matter  will  be  hushed  up." 

"How  disgusting!  I  don't  want  to  think  of  human 
slums  on  this  heavenly  Sunday  morning." 

"Nor  to  be  proposed  to,  I  suppose  ?" 

"I  don't  mind,  Jack  dear." 

She  looked  girlish  and  very  piquant.  Jack  took  her 
hand.  She  did  not  withdraw  it,  and  they  walked  silent 
ly  in  the  shadowed  quiet  of  the  wood.  His  heart  beat 
almost  audibly.  Never  before  had  she  given  him  such 
definite  encouragement.  He  could  think  of  nothing  to 
say  that  would  not  sound  banal  to  this  woman  of  the 
ready  tongue.  But  agitation  unlocks  wayward  fancies 
and  sends  them  scurrying  inopportunely  across  the  very 
foreground  of  the  mind.  The  vagrant  hope  that  she 
would  not  accept  him  in  an  epigram  restored  his  balance, 
and  he  turned  to  her  with  his  habitual  air  of  confidence, 
albeit  his  eyes  and  mouth  were  restless. 

"I  want  an  answer  to-day,"  he  said,  boldly.  "And  there 
is  only  one  answer  I  will  take.  I  have  let  you  play  with 
me,  as  that  seemed  to  be  your  caprice,  and  I  love  caprice 
in  a  woman.  But  there  is  an  end  to  everything  and  I  want 
to  marry  before  Parliament  meets." 

"And  you  never  thought  I  would  not  marry  you  ?"  she 
asked,  in  some  wonder. 

"I  have  never  faced  the  possibility  of  failure  in  my  life. 
82 


A       N       C_  _E_   _S__  ^T_  _O K_     5 

And  you  are  as  much  to  me  as  my  career.  I  cannot  imag 
ine  life  without  either.'* 

He  suddenly  put  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  lifted  her 
face;  she  was  of  tiny  stature  and  this  disadvantage  in  the 
presence  of  man  was  not  the  least  subtle  of  her  charms. 
"Say  yes  quickly,"  he  cried,  and  the  strength  of  his 
will  and  passion  vibrated  to  her  through  the  medium 
he  had  established.  But  she  pouted  and  drew  back. 

"Perhaps  I  want  a  career  of  my  own.  You  would 
swallow  me  whole." 

"You  could  become  the  most  powerful  woman  in  the 
Liberal  party — have  a  salon  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"I  happen  to  be  a  Conservative." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  Or  politics  with  love, 
for  that  matter  ?  Tell  me  that  you  love  me.  That  is  all 
I  care  about." 

"It  is  only  during  the  engagement  that  love  is  all. 
Marriage  is  the  great  public  school  of  life;  the  passions 
fall  meekly  into  their  proper  place — beside  the  prosaic 
appetites,  the  objective  demands;  somewhat  below  the 
faculties  that  distinguish  the  higher  kingdom." 

"Indeed?  Well,  I  am  sanguine  enough  to  believe  that 
we  would  prove  the  exception.  I  hardly  dare  think  of  it!" 
he  burst  out.  "For  God's  sake  keep  your  epigrams  for 
other  people  and  be  a  woman  pure  and  simple." 

She  looked  both  as  she  permitted  her  full  red  mouth  to 
tremble  and  his  arms  to  take  sudden  possession  of  her. 


IN  the  large  liberty  of  an  English  country-house  Isabel 
might  have  found  the  long  morning  tedious  had  she 
been  of  a  more  sociable  habit.  Lady  Victoria,  Mrs. 
Throfton,  and  Lady  Cecilia  Spence  went  to  church;  all 
three,  as  great  ladies,  having  a  dutiful  eye  to  the  edification 
of  humbler  folk.  Flora  Thangue  spent  the  greater  part 
of  the  morning  writing  letters  for  her  hostess,  the  men  fled 
to  the  golf-links,  and  the  rest  of  the  women  not  engaged 
in  vehement  political  discussion,  or  Bridge,  were  striding 
across  country.  Isabel,  tempted  by  the  charmingly  fitted 
writing-table  in  her  room,  although  an  indolent  correspond 
ent,  wrote  a  long  and  amply  descriptive  letter  to  her  sister, 
which  her  brother-in-law,  being  more  than  usually  hard 
up  at  the  moment  of  its  arrival,  transposed  into  fiction  and 
illustrated  delightfully  for  a  local  newspaper.  Then  she 
roamed  about  looking  at  the  pictures,  testing  her  European 
education  by  discovering  for  herself  the  Lelys  and  Mores, 
the  Hoppners,  Ketels,  Holbeins,  Knellers,  Dahls,  and 
Romneys.  She  had  a  quick  instinct  for  the  best  in  all 
things,  but  cared  less  for  pictures  than  for  other  treasures 
of  the  past:  marbles,  the  architecture  in  old  streets,  hard 
brown  schlosses  on  their  lonely  heights,  the  Gothic  spaces 
of  cathedrals,  the  high  and  fervent  imaginations,  immor 
tal  yet  nameless,  in  the  carvings  on  stone;  the  jewelled 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

facades  of  Orvieto  and  Siena,  the  romantic  grandeur  of 
the  Alhambra. 

She  opened  a  door  at  the  back  of  the  central  hall  and 
found  herself  in  a  pillared  corridor  with  a  door  at  either 
end.  Both  rooms  were  open,  and  as  a  blue  cloud  hung 
about  the  entrance  to  the  left,  she  turned  to  what  proved 
to  be  the  library  of  Capheaton.  It  was  a  square  light 
apartment,  with  the  orthodox  number  of  books,  but  with 
so  many  desks  and  writing-tables  that  it  looked  more  like 
the  business  corner  of  the  mansion.  Here,  indeed,  as 
Isabel  was  to  learn,  Lady  Victoria  held  daily  conference 
with  her  housekeeper  and  .stewards,  interviewed  the  wom 
en  of  the  tenantry,  and  those  active  and  philanthropic 
ladies  of  every  district  that  aspire  to  carry  the  burdens  of 
others.  Here  Gwynne  kept  his  Blue  Books  and  thought 
out  his  speeches,  but  it  was  not  a  favorite  room  with  the 
guests. 

Isabel  had  found  many  books  scattered  about  the  house, 
solid  and  flippant,  old  and  new,  but  nothing  by  her  host. 
She  rightly  assumed  that  his  works  would  be  disposed  for 
posterity  in  the  family  library,  and  found  them  on  a  shelf 
above  one  of  the  large  orderly  tables.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
she  had  read  but  two  of  his  books,  and  she  selected  an 
other  at  random  and  carried  it  to  a  comfortable  chair  by 
the  window.  The  work  was  an  exposition  of  conditions  in 
one  of  the  South  African  colonies,  containing  much  criticism 
that  had  been  defined  by  the  Conservative  press  as  youth 
ful  impertinence,  but  surprisingly  sound  to  the  unpreju 
diced.  What  had  impressed  Isabel  in  his  other  books  and 
claimed  her  admiration  anew  was  his  maturity  of  thought 
and  style;  she  saw  that  this  volume  had  been  published 
when  he  was  twenty-four,  written,  doubtless,  when  he  was 

85 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

a  year  or  two  younger.  She  felt  a  vague  pity  for  a  man 
that  seemed  to  have  had  no  youth.  Since  his  graduation 
from  Balliol  in  a  blaze  of  glory  he  had  worked  unceasingly, 
for  he  appeared  to  have  found  little  of  ordinary  recreation 
in  travel.  She  wondered  if  he  would  take  his  youth  in 
his  bald-headed  season,  like  the  self-made  American 
millionaire. 

His  style,  pure,  lucid,  virile,  distinguished,  might  have 
been  the  outcome  of  midnight  travail,  or,  like  his  elo 
quence  on  the  platform,  a  direct  flight  from  the  quickened 
brain.  It  certainly  bore  no  resemblance  to  his  amputated 
table  talk.  But  in  a  moment  she  dismissed  her  specula 
tions,  for  she  had  discovered  a  quality,  overlooked  before, 
but  arresting  in  the  recent  light  of  his  cold  arrogance  and 
haughty  self-confidence.  Behind  his  strict  regard  for 
facts  and  the  keen  insight  and  large  grasp  of  his  subject, 
which,  without  his  evident  care  for  the  graces,  would  have 
distinguished  his  work  from  the  dry  report  of  equally  con 
scientious  but  less  gifted  men,  was  the  lonely  play  of  a  really 
lofty  imagination,  and  a  noble  human  sympathy.  As  she 
read  on,  this  warm  full-blooded  quality,  tempered  always 
by  reason,  grew  more  and  more  visible  to  her  alert  sense; 
and  when  the  fires  in  his  mind  blazed  forth  into  a  revela 
tion  of  a  passionate  love  of  beauty,  both  in  nature  and 
in  human  character,  Isabel  realized  what  such  a  man's 
power  over  his  audience  must  be;  when  this  second  self, 
so  effectually  concealed,  suddenly  burst  into  being. 

"It  is  too  bad  a  woman  would  have  to  live  with  the 
other!"  she  thought,  as  she  raised  her  eyes  and  saw  Gwynne 
emerge  from  the  woods  with  Mrs.  Kaye.  "I  cannot  say 
that  I  envy  her." 

"By  Jove,  they  have  an  engaged  look!" 

86 


A_  J$__C_    E       S T_      O       R       S 

Isabel  turned  with  a  start,  but  greeted  Lord  Hexam  with 
a  smile.  He  was  as  yet  her  one  satisfactory  experience  of 
the  young  English  nobleman,  whom,  like  most  American 
girls,  she  had  unconsciously  foreshadowed  in  doublet  and 
hose.  Hexam  was  quite  six  feet,  with  a  fine  military  car 
riage;  he  had  been  in  the  Guards  and  had  not  left  the  army 
until  after  two  years  of  active  service;  his  blue  eyes  were 
both  honest  and  intelligent,  and  he  was  generally  clean  cut 
and  highly  bred. 

He  drew  up  a  chair  beside  Isabel  and  reflected  that  she 
was  even  handsomer  than  he  had  thought,  with  the  sun 
light  warming  the  ivory  whiteness  of  her  skin,  although  it 
contracted  the  mobile  pupils  of  her  eyes;  and  that  little 
black  moles  when  rightly  placed  were  more  attractive  than 
he  had  thought  possible.  They  gave  a  sort  of  daring  un 
conscious  eighteenth-century  coquetry  to  what  was  other 
wise  a  somewhat  severe  style  of  beauty.  But  he  was  a 
man  for  whom  a  woman's  hair  had  a  peculiar  fascination, 
and  while  they  were  uttering  commonplaces  at  random 
his  eyes  wandered  to  the  soft  yet  massive  coils  encircling 
Isabel's  shapely  head,  and  lingered  there. 

" Pardon  me!"  he  said,  boyishly.  "But  I  always  thought 
— don't  you  know  ? — that  hair  like  that  was  only  in  novels 
and  poems  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Is  it  all  your  own  ?" 
he  asked,  with  sudden  suspicion. 

"You  would  think  so  if  you  had  to  carry  it  for  a  day. 
I  should  have  had  it  cut  off  long  ago  if  it  had  happened  to 
be  coarse  hair.  It  is  an  inherited  evil  of  which  I  am  too 
vain  to  rid  myself.  The  early  Spanish  women  of  my 
family  all  had  hair  that  touched  the  ground  when  they 
stood  up.  I  have  an  old  sketch  of  a  back  view  of  three  of 
them  taken  side  by  side;  you  see  nothing  but  billows  of 

8? 


ANCESTORS 

fine  silky  hair.     But  I  have  put  it  out  of  sight,  as  it  looks 
rather  like  an  advertisement  for  a  famous  hair  restorer." 

"I'd  give  a  lot  to  see  yours  down.  It's  wonderful — 
wonderful!'' 

"Well,  I  have  promised  a  private  view  to  some  of  the 
women.  If  Lady  Victoria  thinks  it  quite  proper  perhaps 
I'll  admit  you." 

"I'll  ask  her  for  a  card  directly  she  comes  home.  Let 
it  be  this  afternoon  just  after  tea." 

"I  wonder  if  they  really  are  engaged,"  said  Isabel,  who 
had  been  told  that  Englishmen  never  paid  compliments, 
and  was  growing  embarrassed  under  the  round-eyed 
scrutiny.  Gwynne  and  Mrs.  Kaye  had  paused  by  a  sun 
dial. 

"Who  ?  Oh  yes,  I  should  think  so,  although  there  was 
some  talk  that  poor  Bratty — but  no  doubt  that  was  mere 
rumor,  or  Mrs.  Kaye  wouldn't  be  on  with  Jack  like  that. 
By  Jove,  he  is  engaged.  I  never  saw  him  look  so — so — 
well,  I  hardly  know  what." 

"Do  you  approve  of  the  match  ?" 

"If  my  consent  is  asked  I  shall  give  them  my  blessing. 
He  is  the  salt  of  the  earth,  although  a  bit  lumpy  now  and 
then;  and  she  is  such  a  jolly  little  thing,  full  of  genuine 
affection — just  the  wife  for  Jack." 

"You  believe  in  her,  then  ?"  Isabel  wondered,  as  many 
another  has  done,  at  the  miasma  that  seems  to  rise  and 
dim  a  man's  perceptive  faculties  when  he  is  called  upon  to 
estimate  the  worth  of  a  fascinating  woman. 

"Rather!     Don't  you  ?" 

"  She  struck  me  as  being  one  of  the  few  people  without 
a  redeeming  virtue.  To  be  sure  that  has  a  distinction  of 
its  own." 

88 


A      N      C       E       S       T       O       R S 

"Oh!"  He  wondered  if  so  handsome  a  girl  shared  the 
common  rancor  of  her  age  and  sex  against  charming  young 
widows. 

"And  the  worst  mannered,"  continued  Isabel,  who  knew 
exactly  what  he  thought.  "And  plebeian  in  her  marrow. 
I  wish  my  cousin  had  chosen  Miss  Thangue  or  any  one 
else." 

"  But  he  couldn't  marry  Flora,"  said  the  literal  young 
nobleman.  "She  hasn't  a  penny,  and  is  the  friend  of  all 
our  mothers.  But  I'm  sorry  you've  such  a  bad  opinion 
of  Mrs.  Kaye.  She's  tremendously  popular  with  us.  I'm 
not  one  of  her  circle — retinue  would  be  more  like  it;  but 
I've  always  thought  her  the  brightest  little  thing  going, 
and  I'm  sure  she  wouldn't  harm  a  fly." 

"  I'm  sure  she  would  do  nothing  so  little  worth  her  while. 
Well,  there  is  no  need  for  your  eyes  to  be  opened;  but  I 
wish  that  my  cousin's  might  be.  I  suppose  that  you  have 
the  same  faith  in  him  that  so  many  others — himself  in 
cluded — seem  to  have." 

"Rather! — You  are  a  most  critical  person.  Haven't 
you  ?" 

"I  think  I  have.  In  fact  I  am  sure  of  it.  That  is  the 
reason  I  have  been  wishing  he  were  an  American." 

He  laughed  boyishly.  "That  is  a  good  one!  But  we 
need  him  over  here.  You  haven't  the  slightest  idea  how 
much.  We  get  into  a  blue  funk  every  time  Zeal  takes  a 
cold  on  his  chest.  To  quote  Mrs.  Kaye,  'A  Liberal  peer 
is  as  useful  as  a  fifth  wheel  to  a  coach,  and  as  ornamental 
as  whitewash.'  Clever,  ain't  it  ?" 

"I  think  people  are  touchingly  easy  to  satisfy!  I  have 
been  treated  to  several  of  Mrs.  Kaye's  epigrams  and  heard 
as  many  more  quoted.  It  seems  to  me  that  nothing  could 


ANCESTORS 

be  easier  than  the  manufacture  of  that  popular  super 
fluity." 

"Perhaps — with  time  to  think  them  out  beforehand. 
Anyhow,  it's  rather  jolly  to  hear  things  you  can  remember." 

"I  should  be  the  last  to  deny  her  cleverness,"  said  Isabel, 
dryly.  But  being  by  no  means  desirous  that  he  should 
find  her  too  acid,  she  dropped  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  then 
raised  two  dazzling  wells  of  innocence.  "I  am  tired  of  the 
subject  of  my  cousin  and  Mrs.  Kaye,"  she  murmured. 
"Are  you  as  ambitious  as  Jack  ?" 

"No  use."  He  stared  helplessly  down  into  the  blue 
flood.  "There  is  no  escape  from  the  'Peers'  for  me,  al 
though  my  father,  I  am  happy  to  say,  is  as  healthy  as  I 
am.  But  after  the  brain  cells  become  brittle — one  never 
knows.  I  too  am  a  Liberal,  and  am  getting  in  all  the  good 
work  of  which  I  am  capable  while  there  is  yet  time.  I 
don't  go  as  far  as  Jack — don't  want  to  see  the  'Peers' 
chucked.  I  have  a  strong  reverence  for  traditions,  and 
no  taste  whatever  for  democracy — that  would  be  too  long  a 
step.  And  I  think  a  man  should  be  content  to  be  useful, 
do  the  best  he  can,  in  his  own  class;  and  be  loyal  to  that 
class  whatever  happens.  Of  course  I  understand  Jack's 
point  of  view,  because  I  understand  him  so  well,  and  know 
that  he  would  be  the  most  maimed  and  wretched  man  on 
earth  in  the  Upper  House;  but  personally,  I  think  one 
should  be  prepared  to  accept  inherited  responsibilities." 

And  then,  as  they  were  both  young,  and  mutually  at 
tracted,  they  found  many  subjects  of  common  interest  to 
keep  them  in  the  library  until  the  gong  summoned  them 
to  luncheon. 


XI 


C"LORA  THANGUE,  after  luncheon,  took  Isabel  out 
1  in  a  pony  cart,  and  although  too  loyal  to  gossip  in 
timately  about  her  patrons,  incidentally  directed  a  search 
light  into  certain  of  their  recesses;  a  light  that  was  to  prove 
useful  to  Isabel  in  her  future  intercourse  with  them,  al 
though  it  did  not  in  the  least  prepare  her  for  an  experience 
that  awaited  her  later  in  the  day.  Miss  Thangue's  mind 
was  occupied  at  first  with  the  obvious  engagement  of 
Gwynne  and  Mrs.  Kaye. 

"That  woman  was  born  to  upset  calculations!"  she 
exclaimed.  "Yonder  is  the  castle  of  the  dukes  of  Arcot. 
We  are  going  over  to  a  party  to-morrow  night.  It  really 
looks  like  a  castle  with  all  those  gray  battlements  and 
towers,  doesn't  it  ?  We  don't  call  every  tuppeny-hapenny 
villa  inhabited  by  a  nobleman  a  *  castle*  as  they  do  in 
Germany  and  Austria.  Well — that  clever  little  panther! 
I'd  like  to  pack  her  into  one  of  her  own  epigrams  and  bury 
her  alive.  I  know  she  was  as  good  as  engaged  to  Brath- 
land.  Now,  having  decided  that,  all  things  considered, 
Jack  is  the  best  match  going — for  everybody  believes  Lord 
Zeal  to  be  worse  than  he  is — well!  there  is  something  ap 
palling  in  a  woman  who  can  adjust  herself  as  quickly  as 
that;  whose  caprices,  sentiments,  passions,  all  natural  im 
pulses,  are  completely  controlled  by  her  reason.  I  wish 
Vicky  saw  through  her;  she  has  so  much  influence  over 

6  91 


ANCESTORS 

Jack,  and  such  deadly  powers  of  ridicule.  But  Vicky,  like 
all  spoiled  women  of  the  world,  is  as  much  the  victim  of 
the  subtle  flatterer  as  any  man,  and  Julia  Kaye  has  man 
aged  her  beautifully.  She  considered  Jack  for  a  bit  before 
she  was  sure  of  Brathland-  Vicky's  real  reason  for  in 
dorsing  Julia  Kaye — between  us — is  because  she  believes 
her  to  be  one  of  that  small  and  select  band  that  can  hold 
a  man  on  all  his  various  sides,  and  she  wants  to  avoid  the 
probability  of  an  absorbing  and  possibly  tragic  liaison- 
like  Parnell's,  for  instance — which  might  interfere  with, 
perhaps  ruin,  Jack's  career.  That  is  all  very  well,  as  far 
as  it  goes,  but  I  believe  Julia  Kaye  to  be  so  entirely  self 
ish  that  when  Jack  finds  her  out  he  will  sicken  of  life. 
I  have  had  the  best  of  opportunities  to  study  women,  and  I 
have  brought  Jack  up — I  had  the  honor  to  be  the  highly 
idealized  heroine  of  his  calf-love,  and  have  been  more  or 
less  in  his  confidence  ever  since.  In  certain  ways  I  under 
stand  him  better  than  his  mother  does,  for  she  has  seen  too 
much  of  the  worst  side  of  men,  and  is  at  heart  too  blasee 
to  have  much  respect  for  or  knowledge  of  their  spiritual 
side;  and  if  I  have  ever  had  any  maternal  spasms  in  my 
virtuous  spinsterhood  they  have  been  over  Jack.  Can't 
you  help  us  out  ?"  she  asked,  turning  suddenly  to  the 
stranger,  to  whom  she  was  powerfully  attracted.  "Are 
you  as  indifferent  as  you  look  ?" 

"I  have  no  idea!  But  although  I  should  not  in  the 
least  object  to  be  cast  for  a  part  in  this  domestic  drama, 
I  don't  care  for  it  at  the  price  of  too  much  '  Jack. '  To 
attempt  to  cut  out  Mrs.  Kaye  I  should  need  a  little  genu 
ine  enthusiasm;  and  frankly,  your  beloved  prodigy  does 
not  inspire  it.  I  like  Lord  Hexam  far  better. 

"Oh,  Jimmy!     He's  a  fine  fellow,  but  only  a  type." 

92 


—   N     c     E     s     T     °     R     s 

"He  hasn't  a  rampant  ego,  if  that  is  what  you  mean. 
And  for  every-day  purposes — "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"I  could  endure  and  even  be  deeply  interested  in  Elton 
Gwynne  if  he  happened  to  be  my  brother  and  I  could  hook 
my  finger  in  his  destiny;  but  in  any  other  capacity — no, 
thank  you!" 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  Jimmy?" 

"I  did  not  even  know  he  was  not  already  married.  Do 
you  see  nothing  in  a  man  but  a  husband  over  here  ?  If  I 
ever  do  marry  it  will  not  be  before  I  am  forty." 

"That  is  rather  long — if  you  see  much  of  the  world 
meanwhile!  And  Jimmy,  although  there  is  not  much 
money  in  the  family — about  twenty  thousand  a  year — 
would  be  a  very  good  match.  He  will  be  Earl  of  Hembolt 
— a  fine  old  title." 

"You  assume  that  such  a  plum  may  be  pulled  by  the 
first  comer." 

"Rather  not!  But  you  Americans  have  such  a  way 
with  you!  What  is  more  to  the  point,  I  never  saw  him 
so  bowled  over." 

"Well,"  said  Isabel,  imperturbably,  "I  will  think  of  it. 
This  English  country  and  these  wonderful  old  houses,  with 
their  inimitable  atmosphere,  appeal  to  me  very  strongly. 
I  have  more  the  feeling  of  being  at  home  here  than  I  had 
even  in  Spain,  where  I  have  roots.  And  socially  and 
picturesquely,  there  is  nothing  to  compare  with  the  position 
of  an  English  noblewoman." 

Flora  turned  her  eyes  frankly  to  the  classic  profile 
beside  her.  Isabel  had  removed  her  hat,  and,  framed 
in  the  heavy  coils  of  her  hair,  her  features  impressed  the 
anxious  observer  as  even  more  Roman  than  early  American; 
although  had  she  but  reflected  she  would  have  remembered 

93 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

that  the  type  of  the  Caesars  had  its  last  stronghold  in  the 
United  States  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Isabel  looked 
like  a  very  young  Roman  matron,  but  her  resemblance  to 
the  stately  effigies  in  the  galleries  of  Florence  and  Rome, 
strong  in  virtue  or  vice,  was  so  striking  that  once  more 
Flora  longed  for  her  support.  A  woman  with  such 
capabilities  would  be  wasted  in  the  role  of  a  mere  countess 
— but  as  the  wife  of  an  aspiring  Liberal  statesman!  She 
devoutly  wished  that  the  American  had  arrived  six  months 
earlier,  or  that  Brathland  still  lived. 

But  she  was  a  very  tactful  person  and  was  about  to 
drop  the  subject,  when  Isabel  slowly  turned  her  eyes. 
They  looked  so  much  like  steel  that  for  the  moment  they 
seemed  to  have  lost  their  blue. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  do  something  to  prevent 
this  marriage,"  she  announced.  "I  do  not  know  what,  as 
yet.  I  shall  be  guided  by  events." 

And  Flora  devoutly  kissed  her,  then  gossipped  pleasantly 
about  the  other  guests  and  the  people  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  Isabel  was  curious  to  know  something  of  the 
duchess  she  was  to  meet  on  the  morrow. 

"Does  she  really  look  like  a  duchess  ?"  she  asked,  so  in 
nocently  that  Flora  laughed  and  forgot  the  Roman-Amer 
ican  profile,  and  the  fateful  eyes  that  had  given  her  an 
uncomfortable  sensation  a  moment  before. 

"Well — yes — she  does — rather.  It  is  the  fashion  in 
these  days  not  to — to  be  smart  above  all  things,  exces 
sively  democratic,  animated,  unaffected,  clever.  But  our 
duchess  here  is  rather  old-fashioned,  very  lofty  of  head 
and  expression.  She  has  a  look  of  floating  from  peak  to 
peak,  and  although  passee  is  still  a  beauty.  To  be  honest, 
she  is  hideously  dull,  but  as  good  a  creature  as  ever  lived, 

94 


ANCESTORS 

and  all  that  the  ideal  duchess  should  be — so  high-minded 
that  she  has  never  suspected  the  larkiest  of  her  friends." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  she  looks  the  role.  I  have  artistic 
cravings." 

They  drove  for  an  hour  through  the  beautiful  quiet 
green  country,  past  many  old  stone  villages  that  might 
have  been  the  direct  sequence  of  the  cave  era.  An 
automobile  skimmed  past  and  the  pony  sat  down  on  its 
haunches.  Isabel  had  a  glimpse  of  a  delicate  high-bred 
face  set  like  a  panel  in  a  parted  curtain. 

"That  is  the  duchess,"  said  Miss  Thangue.  "She 
wouldn't  wear  goggles  for  the  world,  and  only  gets  into 
an  automobile  occasionally  to  please  the  duke.  There 
is  nothing  old-fashioned  about  him." 

"She  looks  as  if  her  name  ought  to  be  Lucy,"  said 
Isabel,  to  whom  the  pure  empty  face  had  appeared  like  a 
vision  from  some  former  dull  existence,  and  left  behind  it 
an  echo  of  insupportable  ennui. 


XII 


ISABEL  had  looked  forward  all  day  to  the  promised 
talk  with  the  somewhat  formidable  relative  for  whom, 
however,  she  had  conceived  one  of  those  enthusiasms 
peculiar  to  her  age  and  sex.  Her  wardrobe  was  barren 
of  the  costly  afternoon  gowns  smart  women  affect,  but 
she  put  on  an  organdie,  billowy  with  many  ruffles,  that 
consorted  with  the  season,  at  least.  Blue  cornflowers 
were  scattered  over  the  white  transparent  surface,  and  she 
possessed  no  more  becoming  frock.  Had  she  been  on  her 
way  to  a  tryst  with  Lord  Hexam  she  would  have  thrust  a 
rose  in  her  hair,  accentuated  the  smallness  of  her  waist 
with  a  blue  ribbon,  the  whiteness  of  her  throat  with  a  line 
of  black  velvet;  but  she  had  the  instinct  of  dress,  which 
teaches,  among  many  things,  that  self-consciousness  in 
external  adornment  provokes  amusement  in  other  women. 

She  had  not  the  least  idea  where  to  find  Lady  Victoria's 
boudoir,  although  a  casual  reference  by  Flora  Thangue 
suggested  that  it  was  on  the  bedroom  floor.  She  lost 
herself  in  the  interminable  corridors  and  finally  ran  into 
Elton  Gwynne. 

"Your  mother  expects  me — where  is  her  boudoir?"  she 
asked. 

He  was  at  peace  with  the  world,  and  answered,  good- 
naturedly:  "I'll  pilot  you.  Her  rooms  are  over  on  the 
other  side." 


A       N      C     _£ S_     T       O       R       S 

"You  look  as  if  you  should  be  congratulated  about 
something,"  she  said,  demurely.  "There  are  all  sorts  of 
rumors  flying  about." 

She  had  half-expected  to  be  snubbed,  but  he  was  not  in 
the  humor  to  snub  anybody.  "You  can  congratulate 
me!"  he  said,  emphatically.  "The  most  wonderful  woman 
in  the  world  has  promised  to  marry  me." 

"I  hope  you  will  be  happy,"  said  Isabel,  conventionally. 
She  resented  his  sudden  drop  from  his  pedestal,  for  he 
looked  sentimental  and  somewhat  sheepish.  Still,  her 
youth  warmed  to  his  in  spite  of  herself,  and  again  he  no 
ticed  with  a  passing  surprise  that  her  eyes  were  both  love 
ly  and  intellectual.  He  was  hardly  aware  that  coinci- 
dently  his  Julia's  eyes  met  his  mental  vision  with  a  glance 
somewhat  too  hard  and  brilliant,  but  he  caught  Isabel's 
hand  and  gave  it  a  little  shake. 

"Thank  you!"  he  exclaimed.  "That  was  said  as  if  you 
jolly  well  meant  it.  There  are  my  mother's  rooms." 

He  went  off  whistling,  and  Isabel  raised  her  hand  and 
looked  at  it  meditatively;  his  own  had  been  unexpectedly 
warm  and  magnetic.  She  had  imagined  that  his  grasp 
would  be  cold  and  loose. 

He  had  indicated  a  private  corridor,  and  she  entered  it 
and  approached  a  door  ajar.  There  was  no  response  to 
her  knock,  but  as  she  was  expected,  and  Lady  Victoria 
no  doubt  was  still  dressing,  she  pushed  open  the  door  and 
entered.  The  room  was  empty,  but  Isabel  was  instantly 
impressed  with  its  reflection  of  an  individuality,  although 
of  a  side  that  had  attracted  her  least.  Here  was  none  of 
the  old  -  time  stiffness  of  Capheaton,  and  there  was  a 
conspicuous  absence  of  dead  masters  and  their  pupils. 
It  was  not  a  large  room.  The  walls  were  covered  with  a 

O 

97 


ANCESTORS 

Japanese  gold  paper  to  within  four  feet  of  the  floor  where 
it  was  met  by  a  tapestry  of  Indian  cashmeres,  and  from 
it  was  separated  by  a  narrow  shelf  set  thick  with  photo 
graphs  in  silver  frames,  and  with  odd  and  exquisite 
bibelots.  On  the  walls  were  artists'  sketches,  and  two 
or  three  canvases  of  the  Impressionist  and  Secessionist 
schools,  expressive  of  the  ardent  temperaments  of  their 
creators.  In  the  place  of  honor  was  a  painting  of  Salambo 
in  the  folds  of  her  python. 

There  were  several  deep  chairs  and  a  mighty  divan 
covered  with  gold-colored  cushions  and  a  tiger-skin,  whose 
mate  was  on  the  floor.  The  gloom  of  the  afternoon  was 
excluded  by  heavy  gold-colored  curtains,  and  the  only, 
but  quite  sufficient  light,  filtered  through  an  opalescent 
globe  upheld  by  a  twisted  bronze  female  of  the  modern 
Munich  school,  that  looked  like  nothing  so  much  as  Alice 
elongating  in  Wonderland. 

Isabel  suddenly  felt  herself  and  her  organdie  absurdly  out 
of  place  in  this  room  with  its  enchantress  atmosphere. 
She  wished  that  Lady  Victoria  had  made  the  appointment 
for  the  library,  which  was  equally  in  tune  with  another 
side  of  her. 

She  was  even  meditating  a  retreat,  inexplicably  em 
barrassed,  when  an  inner  door  opened  and  Lady  Victoria 
entered.  She  wore  a  tea-gown  of  a  sort,  black  and  yellow, 
open  over  the  soft  lace  of  a  chemisette,  although  a  dog- 
collar  of  tiny  golden  sequins  clasped  her  throat.  In  her 
hair  a  golden  butterfly  trembled,  and  in  that  light  she 
would  have  looked  little  older  than  her  guest  had  it  not 
been  for  the  expression  of  her  face  It  was  this  expression 
that  arrested  Isabel  even  more  than  the  toilette,  as  she 
moved  towards  the  divan  without  a  word  of  greeting. 


ANCESTORS 

It  looked  as  if  it  had  been  put  on  with  the  costume,  both 
intended  to  express  a  mood  of  the  wearer:  which  might 
have  been  that  of  a  tigress  whose  ferocity  was  slowly 
awakening  with  the  approach  of  the  victim.  The  black 
eyes  were  heavy  with  the  lust  of  conquest,  the  points 
of  the  mouth  turned  up  more  sharply  than  usual;  there 
was  an  insatiable  vanity  in  the  commanding  poise  of  her 
head.  She  was  as  little  like  the  woman  of  the  morning 
as  the  sun  is  like  the  midnight,  and  Isabel  experienced  a 
positive  terror  of  her. 

Feeling  sixteen  and  very  foolish,  she  sank  to  the  edge  of 
a  chair  and  muttered  something  about  the  charm  of  the 
room.  Then,  as  Lady  Victoria,  who  had  arranged  her 
self  among  the  shining  pillows,  continued  to  stare  at  her 
with  absolutely  no  change  of  expression,  it  dawned  upon 
her  that  she  had  not  been  expected  but  that  some  one  else 
was.  With  too  little  presence  of  mind  left  to  retire  grace 
fully  and  too  much  pride  to  appear  to  have  ventured  into 
the  cave  of  Venus  unasked,  she  managed  to  articulate  her 
gratitude  for  the  invitation  of  the  morning. 

"Oh!"  Lady  Victoria's  eyebrows  expressed  a  flicker  of 
intelligence.  "I  hope  you  have  managed  not  to  bore 
yourself." 

Isabel  plunged  into  an  account  of  her  drive,  to  which 
Lady  Victoria,  who  had  lit  a  long  Russian  cigarette,  paid 
no  attention  whatever.  Her  expression  was  still  petrified, 
except  that  she  might  have  had  the  scent  of  blood  in  her 
slightly  dilating  nostrils. 

Suddenly  the  slow  flame  in  her  eyes  burned  upward, 
and  Isabel,  her  head  fairly  jerking  about,  saw  that  a  man 
had  entered  and  was  advancing  rapidly  across  the  room, 
his  heavy  eyes  wide  with  admiration.  It  was  the  French- 

99 


ANCESTORS 

man  whom  Lady  Victoria  had  honored  with  so  much  of 
her  attention  the  evening  before. 

He  raised  to  his  lips  the  pointed  fingers  negligently  ex 
tended,  and  murmured  something  to  which  Lady  Victoria 
replied  in  French  as  pure  and  fluent  as  his  own;  and  in  a 
low  rich  voice,  with  not  an  echo  in  it  of  her  habitual  abrupt 
ness  or  haughty  languor. 

The  Frenchman  accepted  a  cigarette  and  a  low  chair 
opposite  the  divan,  whose  golden  cushions  seemed  subtly 
to  embrace  the  yielding  flexible  figure  against  them. 
Neither  took  the  slightest  notice  of  the  third  person  be 
yond  a  muttered  introduction  and  acknowledgment,  and 
as  the  man  embarked  on  a  soft  torrent  of  speech,  bearing 
the  burden  of  his  beatitude  in  at  last  meeting  the  only  Eng 
lishwoman  whose  fame  in  Paris  was  as  great  as  among 
her  native  fogs,  Isabel  rose  and  retreated  with  what  dig 
nity  she  could  summon.  Then  Lady  Victoria,  seeing  that 
she  was  rid  of  her,  and  courteous  under  all  her  idiosyn 
crasies,  rose  with  a  long  motion  of  repressed  energy  and 
accompanied  her  to  the  door,  her  hand  resting  lightly 
against  the  crisp  organdie  belt. 

"Will  you  pour  out  the  tea  for  me  ?"  she  asked,  sweetly. 
"I  doubt  if  I  go  down." 

No  small  part  of  her  dangerous  fascination  lay  in  her 
sincerity.  She  really  liked  Isabel,  although  it  was  charac 
teristic  of  her  that  she  did  not  in  the  least  care  at  what 
conclusions  that  puzzled  young  woman  might  arrive  in  a 
more  solitary  meditation. 

When  Isabel  found  herself  in  the  long  cool  corridor,  set 
thick  with  gentle  landscapes,  and  hunting  squires,  and 
dames  haughty  and  humble,  she  drew  a  long  breath  of 
relief,  as  if  she  had  escaped  from  a  jungle.  But  she  felt 

100 


A_      N     J^_£__S       T_  _O_ -jR^   J 

oddly  wounded  in  her  self-love,  young  and  silly.  She 
had  thought  herself  old  in  the  last  three  years,  tremen 
dously  modern.  What  did  she  know  ?  The  easy  morals  of 
students  in  France  and  Germany  had  repelled  her  at  first, 
but  she  had  ended  by  accepting  them  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  had  rather  plumed  herself  upon  her  accumulating 
grains  and  blends  of  human  nature.  She  felt  a  rush  of 
contempt  for  their  crudity.  What  children  they  were  with 
their  simple  unmorality  of  artists,  as  ignorant  of  the  real 
world  as  babes  in  a  wood! 

W^hen  she  reached  her  own  room  she  astonished  herself 
by  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears.  It  was  some  time 
before  she  understood  what  had  induced  it.  It  was  not 
that  the  illusions  of  youth  had  received  a  hard  blow,  for 
many  of  them  had  disappeared  long  since  in  Paris,  when 
she  had  supported  an  American  girl  of  decent  family  but 
too  much  liberty  through  the  most  desperate  experience 
that  a  young  woman,  alone  and  friendless  in  a  foreign  city, 
well  could  have.  The  girl  had  died  cursing  all  men  and 
the  folly  of  women,  and  after  Isabel  had  buried  her  and 
the  leading  cause  of  her  repentance,  she  returned  to  her 
lonely  flat  in  a  state  of  disillusion  and  disgust  which  seemed 
to  encase  her  by  no  means  susceptible  heart  in  a  triple 
panoply.  This  state  of  mind  had  lasted  for  at  least  three 
months.  And  there  was  little  of  which  she  had  not  ab 
stract  knowledge,  nor  had  she  lived  a  quarter  of  a  century 
to  learn  for  the  first  time  of  the  license  which  the  world 
permits  to  women  so  highly  placed  that  they  have  come  to 
believe  themselves  above  all  laws. 

But  all  her  experience  and  abstract  knowledge  counted 
for  nothing,  and  she  had  for  the  first  time  a  sudden  and 
complete  appreciation  of  the  evil  of  the  world  and  of  its 

101 


A      'F__:C_  _£      --S       TORS 

odd  association  with  even  the  higher  virtues;  of  the  fact  that 
in  the  upper  walks  of  life  the  balance  was  more  nearly  even 
than  on  planes  where  there  existed  scantier  opportunities 
for  development.  There  was  no  question  that  Victoria 
Gwynne  was  made  on  a  magnificent  plan,  as  capable  of 
heroism,  no  doubt,  as  any  of  the  salient  women  of  history. 
She  was  an  ornament  in  her  world,  useful,  sympathetic, 
the  author  of  much  good,  a  devoted  and  inspiring  mother. 
And  yet  there  was  no  more  question  that  this  Frenchman 
was  the  last  of  a  long  line  of  favored  adorers  than  that 
Victoria,  for  all  her  individualities,  was  but  a  type  of  her 
kind:  a  kind  that  was  sufficiently  distinct  from  the  hun 
dreds  of  wholly  estimable  women  that  were  proud  to  know 
her,  or  accepted  her  as  a  matter  of  course. 

And  even  these  good  women  ?  Had  they  not  the  same 
passions,  the  same  inclinations  in  the  secrecies  of  their 
souls  ?  What  was  the  determining  cause  of  their  indis 
putable  virtue  ?  A  happy  marriage  ?  Too  many  children  ? 
Timidity  ?  Absence  of  temptation  ?  Or  were  they  mere 
ly  orthodox  through  a  more  uneven  balancing  of  their 
qualities,  the  animal  in  abeyance  ?  For  this  very  reason 
were  they  not  frequently  narrow,  unsympathetic,  unuseful 
— unless,  indeed,  they  were  of  the  few  who,  with  the 
mighty  temptations  of  the  Victoria  Gwynnes,  were  mightier 
still  in  their  fidelity  to  some  inner  and  cherished  ideal. 
This  lofty  ideal  of  womanhood  Isabel  had  unconsciously 
set  up  in  her  soul,  and  the  sudden  conviction  of  its  im 
perfection  was,  after  all,  the  reason  of  her  sudden  despair. 
For  the  soul  with  its  immemorial  and  often  incommuni 
cable  knowledge  may  have  its  moments  of  terror  while 
the  mind  wonders. 

And  she  was  disheartened  at  the  sense  of  insignificance 
1 02 


ANCESTORS 

and  mortification  inspired  by  this  contact  with  a  side  of 
life,  as  real  and  consequent  as  motherhood  or  government, 
instead  of  feeling  merely  repelled,  infinitely  superior  in  her 
unstained  maidenhood.  She  had  no  wish  to  emulate, 
but  neither  did  she  relish  feeling  provincial,  a  chit,  an 
outsider.  Her  youthful  vanity  had  its  way  in  a  mind  too 
speculative,  intelligent,  observant,  merely  to  be  shocked. 
Her  memory  reverted  to  experiences  that  had  made  her  feel 
as  much  older  than  the  ordinary  girl  as  she  now  felt  at  sea. 
What  was  she,  Isabel  Otis,  after  all  ?  She  felt  a  mere 
assortment  of  fluids,  which  might  or  might  not  crystallize 
into  some  such  being  as  she  had  dimly  apprehended,  or 
into  something  quite  commonplace;  realized  with  a  shock 
that  her  own  deep  personal  experience  had  left  her  less 
definitely  moulded  than  she  had  imagined. 

She  rose  impatiently  and  bathed  her  eyes  before  ringing 
for  the  maid  to  lace  her  for  dinner — it  was  long  past  tea- 
time.  "Perhaps  I  had  better  marry  Lord  Hexam  and 
have  ten  children,"  she  thought.  "That  sort  of  exist 
ence  has  kept  more  women  up  to  the  correct  standard 
than  anything  else  except  poverty." 


XIII 


''AND  is  this  really  your  first  big  party  ?"  asked  Hexam, 
1\  wonderingly. 

"The  first!  The  first!  And  I  am  twenty-five!  Just 
think  of  it!  Of  course  I  have  been  to  students'  balls, 
and  little  parties  in  Rosewater.  But  a  function — never 
before." 

"This  is  hardly  a  function — parties  even  in  the  big 
political  country-houses  are  more  or  less  informal." 

"Informal!  The  jewels  fairly  blind  my  provincial  eyes. 
And  this  is  a  real  castle!" 

"Oh  yes,  it  is  a  castle,"  he  said,  laughing  outright.  "I 
suppose  you  have  read  up  its  record  ?"  he  added,  teasingly. 
"You  industrious  and  curious  Americans  know  a  lot  more 
about  us  than  we  know  about  ourselves." 

"Of  course  I  know  the  history  of  this  castle.  I  haven't 
the  least  doubt  you  know  every  word  of  it  yourself.  I  have 
already  learned  that  the  English  are  not  nearly  so  vacant- 
minded  as,  in  their  curious  pride,  they  would  have  one 
believe." 

She  threw  back  her  head,  half-closing  her  eyes  in  the 
ecstasy  of  her  new  experience.  The  dancing  was  in  the 
picture-gallery,  an  immense  room,  in  which  there  were 
many  dark  paintings  of  the  old  Italian  and  Spanish  schools, 
besides  the  presentments  of  innumerable  Arcots  by  the 
usual  popular  masters  of  the  Dutch  and  English.  The 

104 


A       N       C       E       S       TORS 

ceiling  was  of  stone  and  vaulted,  hut  set  thick  with  electric 
lights,  blazing  down  from  their  great  height  like  the  crystal 
stars  of  the  tropics.  It  had  seemed  to  Isabel  that  after 
entering  the  castle  she  had  walked  for  ten  minutes  before 
reaching  this  room,  where  as  brilliant  a  company  was 
disporting  itself  as  she  was  likely  to  look  upon  in  England. 
The  Duke  of  Arcot  was  an  energetic  Conservative  and  a 
member  of  the  present  cabinet,  but  his  social  attentions 
were  ever  directed  to  the  prominent  and  interesting  of 
whatever  party  or  creed.  As  he  found  a  particular  zest 
in  being  surrounded  by  smart  bright  and  pretty  women, 
the  parties  at  the  castle,  and  at  Arcot  House  in  London, 
were  seldom  surpassed  in  either  brilliancy  or  interest.  And 
as  his  rent-roll  was  abnormal,  there  was  no  sign  of  dilapida 
tion  within  the  gray  walls  and  towers  of  the  ancient  castle, 
but  much  comfort  and  luxury  against  a  background  of 
countless  treasures  accumulated  throughout  the  centuries. 
He  had  taken  an  immediate  fancy  to  Isabel  and  promised 
to  show  her  the  lower  rooms  as  soon  as  she  tired  of 
dancing. 

Hexam  watched  her  with  an  amused  indulgence  that 
in  no  wise  tempered  his  mounting  admiration.  She  was 
radiant.  Her  blue  eyes  were  shining  and  almost  black, 
her  cheeks  flooded  with  a  delicate  pink.  She  wore  a  gown 
of  white  tulle  upon  whose  floating  surface  were  a  few  dark- 
blue  lilies.  The  masses  of  her  black  hair  were  piled  on 
her  head  in  the  fashion  of  her  Californian  grandmoth 
ers,  and  confined  by  a  high  Spanish  comb  of  gold  and 
tortoise-shell.  Her  only  other  jewel  was  a  long  string  of 
Baja  California  pearls  that  had  glistened  on  warm  white 
necks  in  many  an  old  California  ballroom  before  ever  an 
American  had  crossed  the  threshold  of  Arcot  Castle.  They 

105 


—  JL     c       E      s       T    _O_    R       S 

had  been  given  by  Concha  Arguello,  when  she  assumed 
the  gray  habit  of  the  Third  Order  of  the  Franciscan  nuns, 
to  the  wife  of  her  brother  Santiago  and  so  had  come  down 
to  Isabel. 

And  to-night  this  descendant  of  that  powerful  clan, 
unimaginable  in  her  modern  complexities  to  their  simple 
minds,  was  receiving  homage  in  the  ballroom  of  one  of  the 
greatest  houses  in  Europe.  For  there  was  no  question. 
even  in  the  minds  of  the  young  married  women,  who  carry 
all  before  them  in  English  society,  that  the  American  girl 
had  created  a  furore  among  the  men.  Isabel  had  con 
fided  to  the  duke,  who  had  lunched  that  day  at  Capheaton. 
and  to  Hexam,  her  haunting  fear  of  being  a  wall-flower, 
and  both  had  vowed  that  she  should  have  no  lack  of 
partners  at  her  first  English  ball.  But  to  Hexam's  dis 
gust,  at  least,  their  solicitude  came  to  an  untimely  end, 
and  he  was  able  to  secure  but  two  waltzes  and  a  square 
dance.  The  duke  had  spoken  for  the  cotillon,  which  he 
had  no  intention  of  dancing.  He  was  a  most  estimable 
person,  but  he  never  ignored  an  opportunity  to  talk  with 
a  new  and  interesting  woman. 

Isabel  could  hardly  have  failed  to  be  a  belle  that  night, 
for  her  spirit  was  pitched  to  a  height  of  joy  and  triumph 
that  charged  her  whole  being  with  a  powerful  magnetism. 
Possibly  with  a  presentiment  that  it  was  to  be  an  isolated 
experience,  she  abandoned  herself  recklessly  to  the  mere 
delight  of  living,  her  will  imperious  for  the  fulness  of  one 
of  the  dearest  of  girlhood's  ideals.  She  was  one  of  those 
women,  cast,  as  she  well  knew,  for  tragic  and  dramatic 
contacts  with  life,  but  Nature  in  compensation  had  granted 
her  a  certain  wildness  of  spirit  that  sprang  spontaneously 
to  meet  the  pleasure,  trifling  or  great,  of  the  mere  present; 

106 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R S 

no  matter  for  how  long  a  period,  or  how  hard,  its  wings 
had  been  smitten. 

So  she  danced,  and  talked  far  more  than  was  her  wont, 
surpassing  herself  in  every  way,  and  no  more  interested  in 
poor  Hexam  than  in  twenty  others.  He  took  her  in  to 
supper,  however,  and  after  three  hours  of  dancing  she  was 
glad  to  rest  and  be  sheltered  by  his  determined  bulk, 
planted  squarely  before  her  corner.  She  knew  that  she 
had  a  coronet  very  close  to  her  footstool,  and  that  this 
brilliant  night  might  be  but  the  prologue  to  a  lifetime  of 
the  only  society  in  the  world  worth  while,  but  she  was  not 
conscious  of  any  desire  beyond  the  brimming  cup  of  the 
moment.  Moreover,  she  had  never  so  thoroughly  en 
joyed  being  a  girl,  and  love-making  would  have  bored  her 
grievously. 

The  duke  claimed  her,  and  after  a  desultory  tour  of  the 
great  reception-rooms  and  an  infinite  number  of  little 
cabinets,  containing  some  of  the  most  valuable  of  the 
Japanese  and  Indian  treasures,  he  led  her  to  the  library, 
a  luxurious  room  conducive  to  rapid  friendship. 

With  that  amiable  desire,  peculiar  to  the  kindly  Eng 
lishman,  to  gratify  the  ingenuous  curiosity  of  the  American, 
he  produced  a  huge  leather  volume  containing  the  various 
patents  of  nobility  that  marked  the  upward  evolution  of 
his  house  from  a  barony  in  some  remote  period  of  the 
world's  history  to  the  present  dukedom,  and  the  royal 
letters  that  had  accompanied  them.  It  was  something  he 
never  would  have  dreamed  of  doing  for  a  stranger  of  his 
own  country,  or  of  any  state  in  Europe,  but  the  English 
humor  Americans  that  please  them  much  as  they  would 
engaging  children;  and  Isabel's  eyes  sparkled  with  so 
lively  an  intelligence  that  the  duke  fancied  she  had  literary 
7  107 


A       N      C       E       S       T    _0 R_  _S 

intentions  and  might  one  day  find  such  information  useful. 
He  even  showed  her  his  complicated  coat-of-arms,  which 
included  a  bend  sinister,  for  he  had  royal  blood  in  his 
veins;  and  this  slanting  rod  interested  Isabel  as  deeply  as 
the  moat  under  the  window.  She  was  even  more  interested 
in  the  duke's  attitude;  it  was  evident  that  he  felt  no  more 
vanity  in  his  royal  descent  than  deprecation  of  its  irregu 
lar  cause  and  enduring  emblem.  It  was,  and  that  was  the 
end  of  it;  but  he  had  quite  enough  imagination  to  appre 
ciate  the  effect  of  so  picturesque  an  incident  in  family 
history  upon  the  mind  of  the  young  republican. 

"The  best  we  can  do  is  to  descend  irrelevantly  from 
Washington,  Hamilton,  or  Jefferson,"  said  Isabel.  "Only 
we  have  not  yet  reached  the  stage  where  we  dare  to  ac 
knowledge  it  on  our  coat-of-arms.  The  illusions  of  the 
American  youth  must  be  preserved.  Even  the  fact  that 
one  of  our  Presidents  was  a  son  of  Aaron  Burr  is  still  to 
be  read  only  in  the  great  volume  of  unwritten  history.  My 
father  was  a  sort  of  walking  edition  of  that  work." 

"That  is  new  to  me!"  The  duke  was  quite  famous  as  a 
student  of  history,  and  took  a  personal  interest  in  America, 
having  been  over  twice  in  search  of  big  game.  He  asked 
her  many  questions;  but  his  interest  in  the  general  subject 
was  as  nothing  to  the  enthusiasm  she  aroused  by  a  chance 
allusion  to  the  chicken-ranch.  The  duke  was  agricultural 
above  all  things;  he  had  a  model  estate  bristling  with 
scientific  improvement.  He  was  enchanted  at  Isabel's 
picture  of  her  wire-enclosed  "runs"  and  yards  containing 
industrious  chickens  of  all  ages,  engaged,  however  in 
nocently,  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth.  Isabel,  when  she 
chose,  could  invest  any  subject  with  glamour,  and  her 
account,  delivered  in  tones  notably  accelerated,  of  the 

1 08 


ANCESTORS 

snow-white,  red-crowned  flocks,  their  aristocratic  little 
white  mansions,  the  luxurious  nurseries  for  the  "chicks," 
and  the  astonishing  and  costly  banquets  with  which  they 
were  daily  regaled,  was  so  lively  that  the  duke  vowed  he 
would  raise  Leghorns  forthwith.  He  asked  her  so  many 
practical  questions,  taking  copious  notes,  and  inevitably 
embracing  California  ranch  life  in  its  entirety,  in  his  thirst 
for  knowledge,  that  Isabel  had  no  more  dancing  that 
night;  but  she  made  an  enduring  impression  upon  the 
eminently  practical  mind  of  her  host. 

It  was  quite  two  hours  after  supper,  and  Isabel  was 
beginning  to  reflect  with  some  humor  upon  the  brevity 
of  all  illusions,  when  Hexam  and  Miss  Thangue  appeared 
simultaneously  and  announced  that  the  Capheaton  guests 
were  leaving.  Hexam  looked  sulky  and  suspicious.  Flora 
was  smiling. 

"For  the  first  time — "  she  murmured. 

Isabel  and  the  duke  laughed  outright,  and  then  shook 
hands  warmly. 

"When  I  go  home  we  can  correspond,"  she  said  to  him, 
"and  I  will  tell  you  all  the  new  kinks.  We  are  always 
improving." 

"The  duke  looked  positively  rejuvenated,"  said  Hexam, 
spitefully,  as  they  walked  down  the  corridor.  "Have 
you  discovered  the  elixir  of  life  in  California,  and  promised 
him  the  prescription." 

"No,"  said  Isabel,  demurely.  "I  have  merely  been 
initiating  him  into  the  mysteries  of  raising  Leghorns." 

Hexam  looked  stupefied,  but  Miss  Thangue  burst  into 
a  merry  peal  of  laughter. 

"Isabel!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  begin  to  suspect  you  are 
a  minx!" 

IOQ 


ANCESTORS 

And  Isabel  laughed,  too,  in  sheer  excess  of  animal  spirits 
and  gratified  vanity.  She  had  excellent  cause  to  remem 
ber  the  ebullition,  for  it  was  some  time  before  she  laughed 
again. 

The  duchess,  with  her  light  sweet  smile,  her  old-fashioned 
Book-of-Beauty  style,  a  certain  affectation  of  shabbiness 
in  her  black-and-silver  gown,  looked  a  more  indispensable 
part  of  the  picture  than  any  of  her  guests,  as  she  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  great  drawing-room  with  a  group  of  her 
more  intimate  friends.  Among  them  was  Lady  Victoria, 
more  normal  of  mood  this  evening,  sufficiently  gracious, 
superbly  indifferent,  although  she  had  held  her  court  as 
usual. 

She  tapped  Isabel  lightly  on  the  cheek  with  her  fan. 
"You  were  quite  the  rage,"  she  said.  "I  never  should 
have  forgiven  you  if  you  had  not  been."  And  Isabel  had 
not  the  slightest  doubt  of  her  sincerity. 

The  duchess,  in  the  immensity  of  her  castle,  did  not  pre 
tend  to  keep  an  eye  on  any  one,  and  would  have  been  the 
last  to  suspect  that  Miss  Otis  had  inspired  her  husband 
with  a  sudden  passion  for  chickens.  She  shook  hands 
approvingly  with  the  young  American  and  asked  her  to 
come  over  informally  to  luncheon  on  the  morrow. 

"Is  your  head  turning?"  asked  Miss  Thangue,  as  they 
drove  home.  "You  must  reap  the  results  of  your  success; 
it  would  be  a  pity  not  to.  After  a  few  weeks  here  with 
Vicky  you  must  go  on  a  round  of  visits  and  then  have  a 
season  in  London." 

"It  would  be  glorious!"  exclaimed  Isabel,  in  whom 
problems  were  moribund.  "I  certainly  believe  I  shall." 

She  was  in  the  second  of  the  carriages  to  reach  Cap- 
heaton,  and  Gwynne,  who  was  still  standing  on  the  steps, 

no 


ANCESTORS 

helped  her  down,  and  asked  her  pleasantly  if  she   had  en 
joyed   herself. 

"  I  had  such  a  good  time  I  know  I  sha'n't  sleep  a  wink  for 
twenty-four  hours.  I  believe  I'll  go  to  the  library  and  get  a 
book  of  yours  I  began  on  Sunday — only —  She  hesitated. 
A  talk  with  this  enigmatical  cousin  would  be  a  proper 
climax  to  the  triumphs  of  the  night.  She  raised  her  eyes, 
full  of  flattering  appeal.  "There  are  one  or  two  points 
I  did  not  quite  understand — I  have  hesitated  to  go  on — 

He  too  was  wakeful,  and  rose  to  the  bait  promptly. 
"Suppose  you  give  me  an  hour  by  the  empty  hearth.  Will 
you  ?  Well,  go  on  ahead  and  I'll  follow  in  a  moment — 
after  I  see  that  the  men  have  all  they  want  in  the  smoking- 
room." 

In  the  depths  of  the  most  independent  woman's  soul  is  a 
lingering  taint  of  servility  to  the  lordly  male,  and  in  Isabel 
it  warmed  into  subtle  life  under  the  flattering  response  of 
this  illustrious  specimen.  She  fairly  sailed  towards  the 
library,  wondering  if  any  of  the  famous  old-time  California 
belles,  Concha  Arguello,  Chonita  Iturbe  y  Moncada,  with 
their  caballeros  flinging  gold  and  silver  at  their  feet,  Nina 
Randolph  and  Chonita  Hathaway  and  Helena  Belmont, 
with  their  pugnacious  "courts,"  had  ever  felt  as  exultant 
as  she.  That  last  moment,  as  she  stepped  lightly  over  the 
threshold  of  the  library,  was  a  sort  of  climax  to  the  in 
toxication  of  youth. 

And  then  she  stopped  short,  stifling  a  cry  of  terror.  The 
library,  except  for  the  wandering  moonshine,  was  unlit, 
but  a  ray  fell  directly  across  a  shadowy  figure  in  the  depths 
of  a  chair,  half-way  down  the  room.  It  was  a  relaxed 
figure,  the  head  fallen  on  the  chest;  the  arms  were  hanging 
limply  over  the  sides  of  the  chair,  the  hands  ghastly  in  the 

in 


A_     N      C       E    _S_     T       O       R       S 

moonlight.  At  the  rustle  of  skirts  the  figure  slowly  raised 
its  head,  and  the  eyes  of  a  man,  haunted  rather  than 
haunting,  looked  out  of  a  drawn  and  livid  face.  But  the 
movement  was  not  followed  by  speech,  and  Isabel  stood, 
stiff  with  horror,  convinced  that  she  was  in  the  presence 
of  the  Capheaton  ghost.  Of  course,  like  all  old  manor- 
houses,  it  had  one,  and  she  was  too  imaginative  not  to 
accept  with  her  nerves  if  not  with  her  intelligence  this  ugly 
proof  of  a  restless  domain  beyond  the  grave.  But  her 
petrifaction  was  mercifully  brief.  There  was  a  quick 
step  behind  her,  and  then  an  exclamation  of  horror  as 
Gwynne  shot  past  and  caught  the  lugubrious  visitant  by 
the  shoulder. 

"Good  God,  Zeal!"  he  cried,  and  his  voice  shook. 
"What  is  it,  old  man  ?  You  look — you  look— 

The  man  in  the  chair  rose  slowly  and  drew  a  long  breath, 
which  seemed  to  infuse  him  with  life  again. 

"I  probably  look  much  as  I  feel,"  he  said,  grimly.  "I'm 
about  to  go  on  a  journey,  and  if  you  can  give  me  a  few 
minutes — 

He  paused  and  looked  with  cold  politeness  at  Isabel. 
She  waited  for  no  further  formalities,  but  shaken  with  the 
sure  foreboding  of  calamity,  turned  and  fled  the  room. 


XIV 


17HAT  night  had  also  been  one  of  triumph  for  Elton 
Gwynne.  He  had  dined  at  the  castle,  and  —  his 
Julia  having  flitted  to  another  country-house — spent  the 
greater  part  of  the  evening  in  the  smoking-room  with  half 
a  score  of  the  most  eminent  men  in  political  England; 
and  others  whose  recognition  was  not  to  be  despised. 

As  there  were  many  guests  at  the  castle  the  dinner  took 
place  in  the  banquet  -  hall,  but  at  six  or  eight  round 
tables,  and  Gwynne  had  found  himself  distinguished  above 
all  the  other  young  men  present  by  being  seated  at  that 
of  the  duchess.  The  prime-minister,  the  chancellor  of  the 
exchequer,  two  other  members  of  the  cabinet,  and  an  am 
bassador  were  his  companions.  All  the  women  were  of 
exalted  station,  but  for  this  fact  Gwynne  cared  nothing, 
being  entirely  free  of  that  snobbery  which  so  often  agitates 
even  the  best-born  of  the  world;  indeed,  would  have  been 
resentful  of  the  ripe  age  of  the  ladies — accumulated  with 
their  political  values — had  it  not  been  for  the  tremendous 
compliment  paid  to  his  personal  achievement. 

He  could  not  sit  beside  her  grace  in  that  nest  of  titles, 
but  at  the  suggestion  of  the  duke  he  had  been  placed  as 
nearly  opposite  her  as  the  round  table  permitted,  and  he 
soon  forgot  the  broken  circle  of  immemorial  bosoms  in 
the  manifest  disapproval  of  the  Conservative  premier  tow 
ards  himself,  and  in  the  attitude  of  the  other  men,  which, 

i '3 


ANCESTORS 

whether  hostile  or  friendly,  evinced  a  recognition  of  the 
rising  star  and  a  tolerance  of  his  ideas. 

There  is  always  a  glamour  about  a  very  young  man  who 
has  given  cumulative  evidence  of  genius  and  compelled 
the  attention  of  the  world,  always  distrustful  of  youth. 
His  enemies  had  long  since — and  he  was  but  thirty — 
admitted  his  gift  for  letters,  fiercely  as  they  might  scoff  at 
his  conclusions;  and  his  rewards  for  bravery  in  the  field 
had  aroused  no  adverse  comment.  But  while  his  most 
persistent  critics  had  never  discovered  him  truthless  and 
corruptible,  his  political  sincerity  had  been  called  into 
question  even  by  his  colleagues,  and  almost  unanimously 
by  the  opposition.  His  principles  were  by  no  means  so 
rigidly  outlined  as  those  of  the  great  Whig  families,  nor  of 
the  men  who  belonged  to  the  Liberal  party  as  a  natural 
result  of  their  more  modest  station  and  protesting  spirit. 
He  was  strong  on  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  party, 
and  far  more  energetic  in  his  advocacy  of  the  rights  and 
needs  of  the  working-man  than  any  Liberal  of  his  own 
class,  but  he  rarely,  if  ever,  alluded  to  the  question  of 
Home  Rule;  a  question  somnolent  but  by  no  means  dead; 
and  the  omission  savored  of  Unionism,  in  spite  of  his 
avowed  scorn  of  all  compromises. 

These  facts,  taken  in  connection  with  the  pride  and 
arrogance  of  the  young  scion  of  the  house  of  Strathland 
and  Zeal,  generated  the  suspicion  that  he  had  allied  him 
self  with  the  Liberal  party  for  two  reasons  only:  its  weak 
ness  in  first-class  men,  and  his  passion  for  self-advertising. 
No  one  disputed  his  preeminence  in  this  branch  of  in 
dustrial  art,  for  although  he  never  descended  to  common 
place  methods,  and  the  interviewer,  far  from  being  sought, 
rather  dreaded  him  than  otherwise,  there  was  no  man  in 

114 


A      N      C       E       S       T    _0 £_    ^ 

England  who  was  such  a  mine  for  "copy,"  nor  of  a  peren 
nially  greener  growth  in  the  select  front  lawn  of  "news." 
When  he  attacked  the  government  he  was  eminently 
quotable,  and  this  endeared  him  to  both  reporters  and 
editors.  When  he  was  interviewed,  fearsome  in  manner 
as  he  was,  he  sent  the  worm  away  packed  with  ideas  and 
phrases.  But  although  he  was  almost  continuously  on 
the  tongue,  and  the  object  of  more  acrimonious  dis 
cussion  than  any  young  man  in  England,  distrust  of  him 
had  grown  to  such  proportions  that  he  had  been  dropped 
after  one  brief  sojourn  in  the  House;  and  to  regain  his  seat 
had  taken  two  years  of  the  hardest  and  most  brilliant  fight 
ing  Great  Britain  had  seen  since  the  Conservative  majority 
of  1874  permitted  Disraeli  to  rest  on  his  prickly  laurels. 
But  this  memorable  battle  of  one  young  man  against 
a  mighty  phalanx  of  enemies  and  doubting  friends  had 
battered  down  the  prejudices  of  his  own  party,  and  won  a 
meed  of  applause  from  even  those  of  stout  old  Tory  prin 
ciples.  The  humbler  class,  upon  whom  the  election  largely- 
depended,  were  captivated  by  his  eloquence,  his  insidious 
manipulation  of  the  best  in  their  natures,  filling  them  with 
a  judicious  mixture  of  ideals  and  self-approval;  while  the 
phenomenon  he  invariably  presented  on  the  platform  of 
the  gradual  awakening  into  life  of  a  warm-blooded  gener 
ous  magnetic  and  earnest  inner  man,  so  effectually  con 
cealed  at  other  times  within  a  repellent  exterior,  never 
failed  to  induce  in  them  the  belief  that  something  respon 
sive  in  their  own  personalities  awakened  that  rare  spirit 
from  its  stifled  sleep.  That  the  glamour  of  his  birth  and 
condescension  to  their  plane  had  aught  to  do  with  the 
dazzling  quality  of  his  charm,  they  might  have  admitted 
had  their  minds  been  driven  by  the  enemy  into  the  regions 


ANCESTORS 

of  self-analysis,  but  in  any  case  he  was  the  theme  of  two- 
thirds  of  the  "pubs"  and  reading-rooms  in  England.  He 
had  achieved  a  sweeping  victory  that  loomed  portentously 
as  a  forerunner  of  greater  triumphs  in  the  future;  for  the 
personal  popularity  he  had  achieved,  the  gift  for  leader 
ship  he  had  demonstrated,  the  self-control  he  showed  at 
all  times,  and  the  fatally  adhesive  quality  of  his  biting  wit, 
had  strengthened  the  Liberal  party  and  caused  the  Con 
servative  to  wish  that  he  had  never  been  born. 

And  flushed  with  self-love  and  the  conquest  of  the 
woman  of  his  desire,  he  had  never  talked  better  than  on 
that  night  at  Arcot;  nor  less  offensively,  for  his  arrogance 
and  assertiveness  were  tempered  by  the  warm  high  tide 
of  his  emotions.  It  was  a  magnificent  room,  the  banquet- 
hall  at  Arcot,  as  large  as  that  of  many  royal  palaces, 
hung  with  old  Gobelins  and  frescoed  by  a  pupil  of  Giotto. 
It  was  a  fit  setting  for  the  triumphant  hour  of  the  "most 
remarkable  young  man  since  the  younger  Pitt,"  a  phrase 
which,  if  not  notably  suave,  at  least  possessed  an  astonish 
ing  vigor,  and  was  almost  as  familiar  in  American  and 
continental  newspapers  as  in  his  own  proud  nation;  a 
nation  always  so  keen  to  possess  the  first  in  all  depart 
ments  of  excellence — creating  them  out  of  second-class 
material  when  the  first  is  lacking — that  the  wonder  was 
she  had  been  so  long  accepting  Elton  Gwynne.  Nothing, 
perhaps,  but  a  noble  desire  for  a  really  great  man  re 
strained  her. 

Opposite  Gwynne,  the  duchess,  sweet  and  tactful,  if 
little  more  than  an  ornamental  husk  in  which  the  juices 
of  her  race  possibly  recuperated  to  invigorate  the  future 
generations,  was  as  fair  and  stately  as  her  castle  demanded; 
and  if  her  gown  was  shabby  her  jewels  were  not.  On 

116 


ANCESTORS 

either  side  of  her  table,  which  occupied  the  central  position 
in  the  great  room,  were  some  of  the  most  beautiful  women 
in  England,  the  smartest,  the  most  politically  important; 
all,  without  exception,  of  an  inherited  status  that  brought 
them  once  a  year  as  a  matter  of  course  within  the  sternly 
guarded  portals  of  Arcot.  Gwynne  did  not  know  that 
Mrs.  Kaye  had  knocked  at  these  sacred  portals  in  vain; 
for  such  gossip,  if  by  chance  he  heard  it,  made  no  im 
pression  upon  him  whatever.  But  he  was  by  no  means 
insensible  to  the  salient  fact  that  he  was  one  among  the 
chosen  of  Earth  to-night,  and  that  it  was  good  to  be  the 
hero  of  such  an  assembly. 

For  that  he  was  the  hero  there  was  no  manner  of  doubt, 
and  when  the  dinner  was  over  he  spent  but  half  an  hour 
in  the  drawing-room,  preferring  the  conversation  of  the 
heads  of  state,  who  so  seldom  gratified  the  vanity  of  a 
man  of  his  years,  but  whom  he  had  the  power  to  interest 
whether  they  approved  of  him  or  not.  He  had  many 
friends  among  women,  some  conquered  by  the  magic  of 
notoriety,  others,  like  Flora  Thangue,  sensible  of  his  finer 
side,  or  tolerant  of  him  through  life-long  intimacy;  and 
there  W7ere  times  when  he  was  as  alive  to  the  pleasures  of 
their  society  as  any  young  sprig  about  town;  but  to-night 
their  admiration  was  too  illogical  to  administer  to  the  self- 
love  which  in  the  last  few  days  had  palpitated  with  so 
exquisite  a  sense  of  fruition.  Moreover,  it  gave  him  the 
keenest  satisfaction  to  read  in  the  manner  of  these  older 
and  long-tried  men  the  grudging  belief  in  his  own  sin 
cerity. 

In  reality  his  motives  for  joining  a  party  at  war  with 
every  tradition  of  his  house  had  been,  primarily,  as  mixed  as 
are  all  motives  that  bring  about  great  voluntary  changes  in 

117 


ANCESTORS 

a  man's  life.  It  was  quite  true  that  he  was  inordinately  am 
bitious,  that  he  had  a  distinct  preference  for  the  sensational 
method,  as  productive  of  speedier  results;  for  he  had  no  in 
tention  of  waiting  until  middle-age  for  the  activities  and 
honors  he  craved  in  his  insatiable  youth;  and  it  was  also 
true  that  he  was  even  more  of  an  aristocrat  than  many  of 
his  class,  with  whom  a  simpler  attitude  had  become  the 
fashion,  even  if  it  were  not  marrow-deep.  But  the  ruling 
motive  had  been  his  passionate  love  of  battle,  a  trait  in 
herited  perhaps  from  his  pioneer  ancestors,  whose  roots 
were  in  the  soil.  This  desire  to  prove  his  mettle  and 
fill  his  life  with  the  only  excitement  worthy  of  his  gifts, 
would  alone  have  made  him  turn  from  the  broad  ancestral 
paths,  but,  like  a  lawyer  fascinated  by  his  brief,  he  had 
long  since  been  heart  and  soul  with  the  party  he  had  chosen, 
and,  with  the  exercise  of  his  faculties,  become  possessed  of 
a  mounting  desire  not  only  to  be  of  genuine  use  to  his 
country,  but  to  lift  the  family  name  from  the  comparative 
obscurity  where  it  had  rested  during  the  half  of  a  century. 
The  present  head  of  the  family  had  been  an  invalid  in 
his  early  life,  and  Italy  had  withered  whatever  ambitions 
may  have  pricked  him  in  his  youth.  When  he  finally 
found  himself  able  to  live  the  year  round  in  England  he  saw 
no  fault  in  a  nation  so  superior  to  any  of  his  exile,  and  he 
had  settled  down  to  the  life  of  a  country  squire,  devoted  to 
sport,  and  supremely  satisfied  with  himself.  His  eldest 
son,  an  estimable  young  man,  who  had  worked  at  Christ 
Church  as  if  he  had  been  qualifying  for  a  statesman  or  a 
don,  died  of  typhoid-fever  before  the  birth  of  his  boy.  The 
present  heir,  brilliant,  weak,  cynical,  absolutely  selfish, 
had  rioted  to  such  an  extent  that  he  had  fatally  injured  his 
health  and  incurred  the  detestation  of  his  grandfather; 

118 


A      N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

Lord  Strathland  was  not  only  a  virtuous  old  gentleman 
but  was  also  inclined  to  be  miserly.     The  subjects  upon 
which  they  did  not  quarrel  bitterly  every  time  they  met 
were  those  relating  to  Elton  Gwynne,  whom  both  loved,  in 
so  far  as  they  loved  any  one  but  themselves.     Deeply  as 
they  disapproved  of  his   politics,  they  respected   his  in 
dependence  and  were  inordinately  proud  of  him.     Zeal's 
daughters,  who  bored  him  inexpressibly,  were  parcelled  out 
among  relatives,  and  he  led  a  roving  life  in  search  of  be 
neficent  air  for  his  weary  lungs.     All  women  had  become 
hateful  to  him  since  he  had  been  forced  to  sit  in  the  ashes 
of  repentance,  but  he  had  consented  to  enter  upon  a  second 
marriage  through  the  most  disinterested  sentiment  of  his 
life,  his  love  of  his  cousin,  whose  haunting  fear  of  being 
shelved  in  his  youth  had  been  poured  into  his  ears  many 
times.     That  he  also  enraged  his  grandfather,  who  wanted 
nothing  so  much  as  the  assurance  that  his  favorite  should 
inherit  the  territorial  honors  of  his  house,  may  have  given 
zest   to   his  act   of  renunciation.     Not   that   he  had  the 
least  intention  of  giving  his  cousin  a  solid  basis  for  de 
spair  for  many  years  to  come,  for  no  mother  ever  nursed 
her  babe  more  tenderly  than  he  his  weak  but  by  no  means 
exhausted  chest.     During  his  last  interview  with  Elton  in 
London  he  had  assured  his  anxious  relative  that  he  was 
taking  the  best  of  care  of  himself,  and  that,  in  spite  of 
blood  -  shot   eyes    and    haggard    cheeks,  his    disease   was 
quiescent;  although  he   had   decided  to  start  for  Davos 
or  some  other  popular  climate  before  the  advent  of  harsh 
weather.     Davos  is  a  word  of  hideous  portent  in  English 
ears,  but  Gwynne  had  expelled  it  with  all  other  cares  from 
his  mind,  and  on  this  night  when  he  returned  from  Arcot 
feeling  a  far  greater  man  than  any  of  his  house  had  ever 

119 


ANCESTOR^ 

dreamed  of  being,  and  with  a  song  in  his  heart,  the  awful 
face  of  his  cousin,  whom  in  the  shock  of  the  moment  he 
thought  stricken  with  death,  gave  him  the  first  stab  of 
terror  and  doubt  that  he  had  experienced  in  his  trium 
phant  life. 


XV 


up-stairs,"  said  Zeal.     "We  are  liable  to  in- 
terruption  here." 

"Have  they  put  you  up  decently  ?"  asked  Gwynne,  with 
his  mind's  surface.  "The  house  is  rather  full.'* 

"I  shall  leave  by  the  seven-o'clock  train,  and  it  must  be 
three  now.  I  have  no  intention  of  going  to  bed." 

"Is  that  wise  ?  You  look  pretty  seedy,  old  man.  You 
haven't  had  a  hemorrhage  ?"  He  almost  choked  as  he 
brought  the  word  out,  and  yet  he  was  not  in  the  least  sur 
prised  when  Zeal  replied,  tonelessly,  "I  had  forgotten  I 
ever  had  a  chest;"  for  his  mind  was  vibrating  with  a 
telepathic  message  which  his  wits  attacked  fiercely  and 
without  avail. 

As  they  entered  his  room  he  pushed  his  cousin  into  an 
easy-chair  and  turned  up  the  lamp  on  the  writing-table. 
Then  he  planted  his  feet  on  the  hearth-rug  with  a  blind 
instinct  to  die  standing. 

"Fire  away,  for  God's  sake,"  he  said.  "Something  has 
happened.  You  know  you  can  count  on  me,  whatever 
it  is." 

Zeal,  who  was  sitting  stiffly  forward,  his  hands  gripping 
the  arms  of  his  chair,  laughed  dryly.  "You  will  be  the 
chief  sufferer.  The  others  don't  count." 

"Has  my  grandfather  speculated  once  too  often?  Are 
we  gone  completely  smash  ?"  Gwynne  was  rapidly  as- 

121 


ANCESTORS 

suring  himself  that  he  was  now  prepared  for  the  worst, 
that  nothing  should  knock  the  props  from  under  him  again, 
that  it  was  the  sight  of  Zeal's  face  that  had  upset  him;  he 
was  not  one  to  collapse  before  the  stiff  blows  of  life. 

"It  is  likely.  Anyhow,  if  he  lives  long  enough  he'll 
make  a  mess  of  what  is  left."  He  raised  his  head  slowly, 
and  once  more  Gwynne,  as  he  met  those  terrible  haunted 
eyes,  felt  as  Adam  may  have  felt  when  he  was  being 
bundled  towards  the  exit  of  Eden.  He  braced  himself  un 
consciously,  and  after  Zeal's  next  words  did  not  relax  his 
body,  although  his  lips  turned  white  and  stiff. 

"I  am  going  to  kill  myself  some  time  to-day,"  said  Zeal, 
in  a  voice  so  emotionless  that  Gwynne  wondered  idly  if  all 
his  capacity  for  expression  had  gone  to  his  eyes.  "I 
should  have  done  it  several  hours  earlier,  but  I  felt  that 
I  owed  you  an  explanation.  You  can  pass  it  on  to  my 
grandfather  when  the  time  comes." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  he  too  seemed  to  brace 
himself. 

"I  killed  Brathland,"  he  said. 

Gwynne  moistened  his  lips.  "Poor  old  Zeal,"  he  mut 
tered.  "It  must  be  a  horrid  sensation — " 

"To  be  a  murderer  ?     I  can  assure  you  it  is." 

Gwynne's  mind  seemed  to  darken  until  only  one  lumi 
nous  point  confronted  it,  the  visible  tormented  soul  of  his 
kinsman.  He  walked  over  to  the  table  and  mixed  two 
tumblers  of  whiskey-and-soda,  wondering  why  he  had  not 
thought  of  it  before.  They  drank  without  haste,  and  then 
Gwynne  took  the  chair  opposite  Zeal's. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  said. 

"Brathland  and  I  had  not  been  friends  for  some  years. 
He  was  a  bounder,  and  an  ass  in  the  bargain.  I  never, 

122 


ANCESTORS 

even  when  we  were  on  speaking  terms,  made  any  particular 
effort  to  hide  what  I  thought  of  him — it  wasn't  worth  while. 
Of  course,  with  every  mother  firing  her  girls  at  his  head, 
and  the  flatterers  and  toadies  from  whom  a  prospective 
duke  cannot  escape  if  he  would,  he  had  an  opinion  of  him 
self  that  would  have  made  me  the  object  of  his  particular 
rancor,  even  if  I  hadn't  cut  him  out  with  three  different 
women  that  couldn't  marry  either  of  us.  When  I  got  the 
verdict  that  I  must  pull  up  or  go  under,  he  chose  that 
particular  moment  to  take  up  with  Stella  Starr,  the  only 
woman  I  ever  cared  a  pin  for.  Somehow,  he  got  wind 
of  my  condition,  and  knowing  that  I  would  prefer  to  retire 
as  gracefully  as  possible,  it  struck  him  as  the  refinement  of 
vengeance  to  make  a  laughing-stock  of  me  when  I  was  no 
longer  :n  a  condition  to  play  the  game  out;  to  advertise  me 
as  a  worn-out  rake  for  whom  the  world  of  Stella  Starrs  had 
no  further  use.  We  never  spoke  again  until  Friday  night." 

He  paused,  then  mixed  and  drank  another  whiskey-and- 
soda,  lit  a  cigarette,  and  resumed. 

"I  had  objected  to  his  being  let  into  the  mine,  which 
Vanneck's  agent  and  private  letters  had  persuaded  the 
rest  of  us  would  make  our  fortunes;  but  I  was  helpless, 
for  he  was  not  only  Vanneck's  cousin,  but  his  brother  is 
out  in  Africa  and  also  interested  in  the  mine.  I  there 
fore  consented  to  attend  the  dinner  at  which  the  whole 
business  was  to  be  discussed,  fully  intending  to  treat  him 
as  I  should  any  stranger  to  whom  I  had  just  been  in 
troduced. 

"At  first  all  went  well  enough.  We  had  the  private 
dining-room  and  smoking-room  on  the  second  floor  at  the 
Club,  the  dinner  was  excellent,  and  Brathland,  although 
nearly  opposite  me,  behaved  as  decently  as  he  always  did 

8  123 


ANCESTORS 

when  sober.  It  was  champagne  that  let  loose  the  bounder 
in  him,  and  that  was  one  reason  I  always  so  thoroughly 
despised  him:  the  man  that  is  not  a  gentleman  when  he  is 
drunk  has  no  right  to  be  alive  at  all. 

"We  were  not  long  discussing  the  mine  threadbare,  for 
we  did  not  know  enough  about  it  to  enlarge  into  any 
picturesque  details,  and  the  agent,  who  had  seen  each  of  us 
separately,  was  not  present.  Raglin  read  a  personal  letter 
from  Vanneck,  and  Brathland  another  from  Dick.  Then, 
the  subject  being  exhausted  long  before  we  reached  the 
end  of  dinner,  we  drifted  off  to  other  topics;  and  went  into 
the  smoking-room  with  the  coffee. 

"It  was  at  least  six  years  since  I  had  tasted  anything 
stronger  than  whiskey-and-water,  and  what  devil  entered 
into  me  that  night  to  drink  a  quart  of  champagne,  and 
liqueurs,  and  pour  port  and  brandy  on  top,  the  devil  him 
self  only  knows.  Perhaps  the  old  familiar  sight  of  a  lot  of 
good  fellows;  most  likely  the  vanity  of  forcing  Brathland 
to  believe  that  he  beheld  a  rival  as  vigorous  and  dangerous 
as  of  old — I  had  gained  ten  pounds  and  was  looking  and 
feeling  particularly  fit.  At  all  events  the  mess  affected  me 
as  alcohol  never  had  done  in  even  my  salet  days,  and  al 
though  my  thoughts  seemed  to  be  moving  in  a  crystal 
procession,  I  became  slowly  obsessed  with  the  desire  to 
kill  Brathland;  whose  face,  chalky  white,  as  it  always  was 
when  he  was  drunk — and  he  always  got  drunk  on  less  than 
any  one  else — filled  me  with  a  fury  of  disgust  and  hatred. 
My  mind  kept  assuring  this  thing  that  straddled  it  that  I 
had  not  the  least  intention  of  making  an  ass  of  myself; 
and  that  procession  of  thought,  in  order  to  support  its 
confidence,  entered  into  an  argument  with  my  conscience, 
which  was  in  a  corner  and  looked  like  a  codfish  standing 

124 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

on  its  tail  and  grinning  impotently.  A  jig  of  words  escaped 
from  the  mouth  of  the  codfish:  copy-book  maxims,  Bible 
admonitions,  the  commandments,  legal  statutes.;  all  in 
one  hideous  mess  that  annoyed  me  so  I  slipped  out,  went 
up  to  my  room,  and  pocketed  a  pistol.  That  logical  pro 
cession  of  thought  in  my  mind  assured  me  that  this  unusual 
move  at  a  friendly  business  dinner  was  merely  in  the  way 
of  self-protection,  for  Brathland  had  once  been  heard  to 
say  that  he  wished  we  were  both  cow-boys  on  an  American 
ranch  so  that  he  could  put  a  bullet  into  me  without  taking 
the  consequences — he  never  had  a  brain  above  shilling 
shockers.  My  thoughts,  as  they  visibly  combined  and  re- 
combined  in  the  crystal  vault  of  my  skull,  asserted  con 
fidently  that  he  had  been  reading  such  stuff  lately,  and 
that,  ten  to  one,  he  had  a  pistol  in  his  pocket. 

"When  I  returned  Brathland  was  standing  by  the 
hearth,  supporting  himself  by  the  chimney-piece.  The 
rest  were  lying  about  in  long  chairs,  smoking,  and  drinking 
whiskey-and-sodas.  They  were  all  sober  enough,  and 
Brathland  looked  the  more  of  a  beast  by  contrast. 

"  I  took  a  chair  opposite  him  and  ordered  my  thoughts  to 
arrange  themselves  in  phrases  that  should  pierce  his  mental 
hide  and  wither  the  very  roots  of  his  self-esteem — his  vanity 
was  the  one  big  thing  about  him.  But  he  took  his  doom 
into  his  own  hands  and  built  it  up  like  a  house  of  cards. 

"How  does  it  feel  to  be  drunk  once  more  ?'  he  asked, 
with  his  damnable  sneer.  'It  makes  you  look  less  of  a 
hypochrondriac,  anyhow.  "Granny  Zeal" — that's  what 
the  girls  call  you.' 

"If  they  do  I've  no  doubt  you  taught  them/  I  replied, 
in  tones  as  low  as  his  own.  Several  men  were  seated  not 
far  off,  but  neither  of  us  hung  out  a  storm  signal. 

125 


A      N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

"I  did,'  he  said.  'Not  but  that  I  had  had  revenge 
enough.  I  had  made  you  ridiculous — you  with  your 
damned  superior  airs — like  that  infant  phenomenon  cousin 
of  yours  who  is  making  the  family  ass  of  himself  over  Julia 
Kaye— ' 

"  Those  were  his  last  words.  I  pulled  the  pistol  and  fired 
straight  into  his  abdomen — knew  I  couldn't  miss  him  there. 

"God!  what  a  commotion  there  was.  He  doubled  up 
with  a  yell — just  like  him.  The  men  fairly  bounded  out 
of  their  chairs.  There  were  two  waiters  in  the  room — • 
just  come  in  with  Apollinaris.  Raglin  slammed  the  doors 
to,  and,  while  Ormond  and  Hethrington  laid  Brathland  out 
on  a  sofa,  asked  the  servants  if  they  would  hold  their 
tongues  until  it  was  known  whether  he  would  die  or  not. 
They  assented  readily  enough,  knowing  how  damned  well 
worth  their  while  it  was.  Then  he  went  off  for  a  surgeon 
— didn't  dare  telephone — went  straight  for  a  young  fellow 
named  Ballast  he  happened  to  know,  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  probe  for  a  bullet  and  call  it  appendicitis,  for  a 
thousand  pounds.  Apparently  there  was  no  time  wasted 
in  argument,  for  he  returned  in  half  an  hour  with  his  man. 
The  surgeon  probed  for  the  bullet,  but  without  success. 
Then  he  bandaged  Brathland,  had  him  carried  up  to 
Raglin's  room,  and  sent  for  a  nurse  that  he  could  trust. 

"We  all  regathered  in  the  smoking-room,  shut  the 
waiters  in  the  dining-room,  and  talked  the  matter  over. 
By  this  time  I  was  more  hideously  sober  than  I  ever  had 
been  in  my  life.  What  they  thought  of  me  I  neither  knew 
nor  cared,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  they  knew  themselves; 
their  one  thought  was  to  keep  the  matter  from  getting  out 
and  dragging  the  Club  into  a  scandal;  and  of  course  Raglin 
was  equally  keen  on  sheltering  the  family,  whether  Brath- 

126 


ANCESTORS 

land  lived  or  died.  Anyhow,  I  fancy  they  would  have 
stood  by  me,  for  if  we  have  no  other  virtue  we  do  stand  by 
each  other. 

"Practically  the  only  question  was  the  amount  to  be 
paid  in  blackmail,  for  every  trace  of  the  affair  had  been 
removed;  even  the  smell  of  antiseptics  and  ether  had  gone. 
We  finally  called  the  waiters  in  and  offered  them  four 
hundred  each  for  their  silence,  or  in  the  case  of  Brathland's 
death — the  surgeon  held  out  hopes — a  thousand.  They 
coolly  replied  they  would  take  a  thousand  apiece  before 
noon  on  the  following  day,  and  ten  thousand  each  in  case 
of  death.  We — or  rather  Raglin  and  one  or  two  others — 
jawed  for  an  hour;  but  the  wretches  never  yielded  an  inch. 
They  had  us  on  the  hip  and  were  not  likely  to  be  put  off 
by  any  amount  of  eloquence.  Of  course  we  caved  in  and 
God  knows  what  amount  of  future  blackmail  the  Club  is 
in  for.  Then  there  was  the  thousand  for  the  surgeon,  and 
the  nurse  would  expect  a  thousand  more.  Of  course  I 
made  myself  responsible  for  the  entire  amount.  Raglin 
insisted  for  a  time  upon  going  halves — blood  may  be  blood, 
but  he  had  despised  Bratty  as  much  as  I  ever  did — but;  of 
course  I  would  not  hear  of  it. 

"The  next  afternoon  the  surgeon  probed  again,  and 
Brathland  died  under  the  ether.  The  wound  after  probing 
looked  sufficiently  like  an  ordinary  incision  to  deceive  any 
one.  Raglin  and  Harold  Lorcutt — who,  of  course,  was 
told  the  truth — naturally  had  the  body  sealed  up  in  lead 
before  taking  it  north.  The  old  duke  and  the  women  of 
the  family  are  in  a  fair  way  to  know  nothing." 

He  paused  abruptly  and  lifted  his  eyes  once  more  to 
Gwynne's,  bursting  into  a  laugh  that  sounded  like  the 
crackling  of  fire  under  dry  leaves. 

127 


ANCESTORS 

"Lovely  story,  ain't  it  ?" 

But  Gwynne  made  no  reply.  His  mind,  released,  was 
working  abnormally,  and  his  face  was  as  livid  as  his 
cousin's  had  been. 

Zeal  rose.  The  narrative  had  excited  him  out  of  his 
apathy  and  physical  exhaustion,  the  confession  shaken  the 
rigidity  from  his  mind.  He  planted  himself  on  the  hearth 
rug  with  an  air  that  approached  nonchalance.  His  thin 
clever  face  had  a  burning  spot  on  either  cheek,  his  sunken 
eyes  were  no  longer  haunted,  but  brilliant  and  staring; 
his  thin  high  nose  and  fine  hands  twitched  slightly,  as  if 
his  nerves  were  enjoying  a  too  sudden  release. 

"Heavenly  sensation — to  be  a  murderer.  What  beastly 
names  things  have  and  how  we  are  obsessed  by  them! 
The  word  rings  in  my  brain  night  and  day — I  haven't  slept 
three  hours  since  it  happened,  and  I  never  had  the  re 
motest  hope  that  he  would  live.  It's  the  second  time  in 
my  life  I've  been  up  against  a  cold  ugly  fact  that  stands 
by  itself  in  a  region  where  rhetoric  doesn't  enter.  I  believe 
I  could  tolerate  the  situation  if  I'd  done  it  in  cold  blood,  if 
I'd  thought  it  out,  determined  to  gratify  my  hatred  of  the 
man;  if,  in  short,  the  deed  had  been  the  offspring  of  my 
intelligence,  for  which  I  have  always  had  a  considerable 
respect.  But  to  have  been  under  the  control  of  a  Thing, 
like  any  navvy,  to  be  a  criminal  without  the  consent  of  my 
will— 

"I  don't  know  that  that  fact  alone  would  make  life  in 
supportable.  But  there  are  other  and  sufficient  reasons. 
I  shall  never  get  the  hideous  sight  of  Brathland  as  he 
doubled  up,  and  his  horrid  gurgling  shriek,  out  of  my  mind 
this  side  of  the  grave.  And  I  am  practically  cleaned  out. 
You  know  how  much  I  have  left  of  my  mother's  property! 

128 


A       N      C       E       S       T    _O R_    _5 

It  barely  covers  what  I  paid  out  to-day.  There  isn't  a 
penny  for  the  girls.  They  will  be  dependent  on  Strathland 
— as  I  should  be  if  I  lived;  a  position  for  which  I  have  as 
little  relish  as  for  that  of  a  murderer  on  the  loose.  And 
should  I  ever  be  really  safe  ?  If  this  stinking  quartet 
takes  it  into  its  head  to  levy  annual  blackmail,  where  is  the 
money  coming  from  ?  I  won't  have  the  others  let  in  while 
I'm  alive.  If  it  did  come  to  that — and  of  course  it  would — 
I'd  get  out  anyhow,  so  I  may  as  well  go  now  and  save  my 
self  further  horrors.  Besides,  with  all  our  precautions,  we 
may  have  overlooked  some  significant  detail,  there  may 
have  been  an  eavesdropper,  the  undertakers  may  have  had 
their  suspicions — for  all  I  know  I  may  be  arrested  to 
morrow — well,  Jack,  what  would  you  do  in  my  place  ?" 

Gwynne  shook  himself  and  stood  up.  "I  don't  know. 
I  have  been  feeling  as  if  I  had  killed  Bratty  myself.  But 
I  cannot  imagine  myself  committing  suicide — talk  about 
ugly  words!  In  the  first  place  I  don't  think  that  one 
crime  is  any  reason  for  committing  another,  and  in  the 
second — " 

"It  is  cowardly!  You  don't  suppose  that  old  standby 
slipped  my  mind,  do  you  ?  Well,  I  am  a  coward.  There 
you  have  my  dispassionate  opinion  of  myself.  I  don't 
see  myself  in  the  prisoner's  dock,  in  the  graceful  act  of 
dangling  from  the  end  of  a  rope;  or,  if  the  judge  was  in 
clined  to  have  pity  on  the  family,  of  dying  in  a  prison 
hospital.  Even  if  I  trumped  up  the  necessary  fortitude 
I  should  be  a  blacker  villain  than  I  am  to  bring  disgrace 
upon  my  five  poor  girls  and  the  woman  that  has  promised 
to  marry  me,  to  say  nothing  of  Vicky  and  yourself.  Nor, 
on  the  other  hand,  do  I  see  myself  skulking  in  some  hole 
abroad  with  the  hue  and  cry  after  me.  I  have  just  as  little 

I29 


ANCESTORS 

appetite  for  the  role  of  the  haunted  man  in  comparative 
security.  Well,  what  would  you  do  yourself?" 

Gwynne  shuddered.  His  own  eyes  were  hunted. 
"How,  in  God's  name,  can  any  man  tell  what  he  would  do 
until  he  is  in  the  same  hole  ?  I  should  like  to  think  that  I 
would  speak  out  and  take  the  consequences.  There  is 
little  danger  of  your  swinging,  and  as  for  imprisonment — • 
one  way  or  another  you've  got  to  answer  for  your  crime, 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  the  honest  thing  is  to  accept  the 
penalty  of  the  law  you  live  under." 

"Well,  it  doesn't  to  me,"  said  Zeal,  coolly,  and  lighting 
another  cigarette.  "I  asked  the  question  merely  out  of 
curiosity,  as  the  workings  of  your  mind  always  interest  me. 
But  I  have  quite  made  up  my  own  mind.  The  only 
reason  I  hesitated  a  moment — to  be  exact,  it  was  half  a 
day — was  on  your  account.  Of  course  I  know  what  my 
death  will  mean  to  you." 

"  It  was  for  that  reason  I  was  almost  coward  enough  not 
to  remonstrate."  Gwynne  scratched  a  match  several 
times  before  he  succeeded  in  getting  a  light.  "Neverthe 
less,  I  meant  it." 

"Don't  doubt  it.  And  I  am  sorry — it  is  about  the  only 
regret  I  shall  take  with  me,  that  and  some  remorse  on 
account  of  the  girls.  I  suppose  Strathland  will  throw 
them  a  bone  each — " 

"I  will  look  out  for  them.  But  you  are  not  bent  on  this 
horror!"  he  burst  out.  Wild  plans  of  drugging  his  cousin, 
of  locking  him  up,  chased  through  his  mind,  and  at  the 
same  time  he  was  sick  with  the  certainty  of  his  own  im 
potence.  He  knew  his  cousin,  and  he  had  the  sensation 
that  an  illuminated  scroll  of  fate  dangled  before  his  eyes. 

Zeal  nodded.     His  excitement,  his  fears,  had  left  him. 


ANCESTOR S 

He  felt  something  of  the  swagger  in  calm  peculiar  to  the 
condemned  in  their  final  hour,  that  last  great  rally  of  the 
nerves  to  feed  the  fires  of  courage.  He  finished  his  cigarette 
and  flung  himself  on  the  sofa. 

"Wake  me  at  twenty  to  seven,  will  you  ?"  he  asked.     "1 
have  ordered  the  trap." 


XVI 


'"PHE  young  Marquess  of  Strathland  and  Zeal  sat  alone 
1  in  the  smoking-room  at  Capheaton — the  guests,  with 
the  exception  of  Flora  Thangue  and  Isabel  Otis  had  de 
parted  six  days  ago — sunk  in  a  melancholy  so  profound 
that  his  brain  was  mercifully  inactive:  if  the  history  of  the 
past  week  was  dully  insistent  the  future  was  not. 

He  had  witnessed  the  descent  of  his  grandfather  and 
cousin  into  the  vault  of  the  chapel  at  Strathland  Abbey 
two  days  before,  and  after  the  necessary  interviews  with 
stewards  and  family  solicitors  had  returned  this  afternoon 
to  Capheaton  with  his  mother.  Lady  Victoria,  even  her 
dauntless  soul  sick  with  grief  and  horrors,  had  gone  to  bed 
at  once,  and  after  a  funereal  dinner,  where  he  had  made 
no  response  whatever  to  the  feeble  efforts  of  the  girls  to 
illuminate  the  darkness  in  which  he  moved,  had  gone  to  the 
smoking-room  alone,  wishing  to  think  and  plan,  yet  grate 
ful  that  he  could  not. 

He  had  known  nothing  of  the  weakness  of  his  grand 
father's  heart,  and  the  old  gentleman,  as  ruddy  and  deb 
onair  as  ever,  had  just  come  in  from  the  coverts  when  he 
arrived  at  the  Abbey  a  few  hours  after  Zeal's  departure 
from  Capheaton.  Always  vain  of  his  health  and  ap 
pearance  since  his  complete  recovery,  now  many  years 
ago,  Lord  Strathland  had  turned  a  haughty  back  upon  the 
one  physician  that  had  dared  to  warn  him;  not  even  his 

132 


A       N      C     _£__S^    TORS 

valet  was  permitted  to  suspect  that  he  had  been  forced  to 
pay  to  Time  any  debt  beyond  bleaching  hair  and  an  occa 
sional  twinge  of  gout.  The  care  he  had  taken  of  himself 
in  his  delicate  youth  had  given  him  a  finer  constitution 
than  he  would  have  been  likely  to  enjoy  had  he  been  able 
to  go  the  wild  way  of  many  of  his  family;  and  it  was  his 
familiar  boast  that  he  intended  to  live  until  ninety. 

Elton's  visit  roused  no  curiosity  in  his  complacent  breast, 
for  the  favorite  seldom  announced  his  coming,  and  it  was 
cjuite  in  order  that  he  should  run  down  for  congratulations, 
and  delight  his  affectionate  if  disapproving  relative  with 
personal  details  of  the  great  fight.  He  had  come  with  the 
intention  of  being  the  one  to  break  the  news  of  his  cousin's 
death  to  his  grandfather,  should  it  be  necessary;  but  he 
permitted  himself  to  hope  that  Zeal  would  rise  above 
his  type.  He  had  driven  him  to  the  station  himself,  dis 
pensing  with  the  groom  as  well,  and  pleaded  with  him  to 
wait  at  least  a  month;  to  consider  the  matter  more  coolly 
and  carefully  than  had  hitherto  been  possible;  begged  him 
to  return  to  Capheaton;  offered  to  travel  with  him  if  he 
preferred  to  leave  England.  Whatever  might  threaten  in 
the  future  there  could  be  no  immediate  danger  of  arrest, 
for  if  the  shot  had  carried  beyond  the  private  rooms  of  the 
Club  there  would  have  been  evidence  of  the  fact  at  once, 
and  if  the  undertakers  had  suspected  the  truth  and  delayed 
giving  information,  their  purpose  was  blackmail  and  could 
be  dealt  with. 

And  while  he  argued  and  pleaded  he  wondered,  as  he 
had  during  the  hours  he  watched  beside  his  cousin  sleep 
ing,  if,  in  spite  of  certain  principles  which  he  had  believed 
to  be  immutable,  he  could  have  found  any  other  solu 
tion  himself.  Honor  has  many  arbitrary  inflections,  and 

133 


ANCESTORS 

Zeal's  act,  being  wholly  abominable,  there  must  seem,  in 
his  code,  to  be  no  place  for  him  among  men.  To  walk 
among  them  unscathed,  punished  only  by  a  conscience 
that  time  would  inevitably  dull,  and  the  loss  of  a  small 
fortune  that  his  promised  wife  would  more  than  replace, 
while  some  passionate  creature  without  powerful  friends 
or  money  for  blackmail  went  to  the  noose,  was  an  outrage 
abroad  in  the  secret  regions  of  the  spirit  even  if  it  made  no 
assault  upon  public  standards.  He  deserved  extinction, 
one  way  or  another,  and  it  would  be  almost  as  great  an 
outrage  were  he  to  cover  his  family  with  his  own  disgrace. 
Certain  men  might,  after  such  a  lesson,  live  on  to  devote 
their  lives  to  repentance  and  beneficent  works,  but  not 
Zeal;  and  Gwynne  had  no  great  respect  for  a  character 
made  over  after  some  terrifying  explosion  among  its  baser 
parts.  And  the  question  would  always  remain  if  the 
highest  honor  would  not  have  commanded  confession. 

He  made  a  deliberate  effort  to  put  himself  in  Zeal's 
place,  and  after  several  failures  accomplished  the  feat.  He 
was  willing  to  believe  that  his  first  impulse  would  have 
been  to  destroy  himself,  not  so  much  through  fear  as 
through  a  blind  sense  of  atonement,  for  when  he  endeavored 
to  argue  that  the  crime  belonged  to  the  law  and  the  public, 
he  swore  at  himself  for  a  prig.  Either  way  was  suicide, 
and  if  the  more  deliberate  might  damn  a  man's  soul,  no 
doubt  he  deserved  nothing  less,  and  at  least  he  had  done 
his  duty  by  his  family  and  his  class.  Gwynne  had  in  the 
base  of  his  character  a  puritanical  stratum  by  no  means 
mined  as  yet,  but  with  too  many  outcroppings  to  have  been 
overlooked.  But  the  very  strength  it  gave  him  served  to 
confuse  the  simplicity  of  the  religious  instinct;  and  duty, 
like  the  code  of  honor,  endures  many  interpretations  in 

134 


iL      N      C       E       S       T      0       R      S 

complex  minds.  He  was  quite  sure  that  ultimately  he 
would  have  decided  with  his  cold  intelligence;  and  he  was 
equally  sure  that  if  he  had  doggedly  determined  to  con 
quer  life  and  be  conquered  by  nothing,  that  the  best  part 
of  his  mental  existence  would  have  gone  into  the  grave 
with  his  ideals. 

Although  there  was  still  some  confusion  in  his  mind, 
he  kept  it  out  of  his  words,  and  as  he  drove  home  from  the 
station  he  was  sanguine  enough  to  hope  that  he  had  at 
least  dissuaded  Zeal  from  precipitancy;  for  his  cousin, 
flippant,  cynical,  appeared  to  be  quite  his  usual  self,  and 
as  he  nodded  from  the  window  of  the  train  bore  little 
resemblance  to  the  demoralized  wretch  of  the  night. 

Nevertheless,  he  hastened  to  his  grandfather,  for  he 
knew  how  little  the  rnood  of  the  moment  may  presage  that 
of  an  hour  hence;  although  he  was  reasonably  sure  that 
if  Zeal  lived  until  the  following  morning  it  would  be  some 
time  before  he  brought  himself  to  the  sticking-point  again. 
He  announced  to  his  mother  and  his  guests  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  spend  twenty-four  hours  with  his  grandfather, 
promising  to  return  in  time  for  two  hours'  shooting  on 
the  morrow. 

He  took  for  granted  that  Zeal  had  gone  to  London. 
What  then  was  his  foreboding  horror  when  Lord  Strath- 
land,  as  they  sat  alone  at  luncheon — the  unmarried  aunts 
were  visiting — remarked  with  acerbity: 

"Zeal  arrived  on  the  train  before  yours — went  straight 
to  his  room,  giving  orders  he  was  not  to  be  called  until 
dinner — has  not  honored  me  with  so  much  as  an  inti 
mation  that  he  was  in  the  house  —  Where  are  you 
going  ?" 

Gwynne  had  half  risen.     He  sat  down  hastily. 
'35 


ANCESTORS 

"I  was  afraid  he  might  be  ill,"  he  replied,  coolly.  "But 
doubtless  he  merely  had  a  bad  night  and  wants  sleep." 

In  a  flash  he  had  understood.  It  was  like  Zeal's 
cynicism  to  die  as  close  to  the  family  vault  as  possible. 

No  meal  had  ever  seemed  as  long  as  that  last  luncheon 
with  his  grandfather,  who  promptly  dismissed  the  subject 
of  his  detested  heir  and  asked  a  hundred  questions  about 
the  campaign.  A  fierce  sense  of  protecting  the  two  men 
he  loved  best  enabled  Gwynne  to  answer  as  collectedly  as 
if  he  had  not  been  possessed  with  the  sickening  idea  that 
the  very  bones  had  gone  out  of  him.  When  luncheon  was 
over  he  accompanied  his  grandfather  to  the  library,  then 
after  smoking  a  third  of  a  cigar,  left  him  to  his  nap,  frankly 
stating  that  he  thought  he  had  better  look  up  Zeal,  who 
had  been  rather  seedy  of  late;  he  would  risk  being  un 
welcome. 

He  walked  slowly  up  the  stair  and  along  the  corridor 
to  his  cousin's  suite;  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  reach  it,  but 
neither  could  he  wait  for  the  possible  discovery  of  the 
servants  at  the  dinner-hour. 

He  knocked  at  the  door  of  'the  sitting-room.  There 
was  no  answer.  He  turned  the  handle.  The  door  was 
locked.  Then  he  pounded  and  called.  He  was  about  to 
fling  himself  against  the  door  when  he  heard  a  quick  step 
in  the  corridor,  and  before  he  could  retreat  Lord  Strath- 
land  was  beside  him.  There  was  no  defect  in  the  old  gen 
tleman's  eyesight  nor  in  his  perceptions.  Zeal's  abrupt  ar 
rival  without  servant  or  luggage,  and  his  more  than  usual 
rudeness,  had  charged  him  with  vague  suspicions  as  well 
as  annoyance.  When  Gwynne,  in  spite  of  his  self-con 
trol,  had  turned  livid  upon  hearing  that  Zeal  was  in  the 
Abbey,  and  had  risen  as  if  to  fly  to  his  rescue,  a  dark  if 


A       N      C       E       S    _T O__R S 

undefined  foreboding  had  entered  his  grandfather's  mind. 
But  Lord  Strathland  respected  the  reserve  of  his  guests, 
no  matter  how  nearly  related,  and,  dismissing  the  subject, 
had  forgotten  his  apprehension  until  Gwynne  revived  it  by 
his  untimely  pilgrimage.  Then  Lord  Strathland  thought 
the  time  had  come  to  hear  the  truth. 

"Well  ?"  he  demanded,  sharply.  "What  is  it  ?  What's 
up  ?  Why  doesn't  Zeal  open  ?  I  saw  him  in  Piccadilly 
on  Saturday  and  he  stared  at  me  as  if  he  had  never  seen 
me  before.  I  thought  at  the  moment  it  was  some  of  his 
damned  impertinence,  but  concluded  that  he  had  some 
thing  on  his  mind.  He  looked  more  dead  than  alive." 

Gwynne's  back  was  to  the  light,  and  he  controlled  his 
voice,  although  his  heart  was  thumping.  "W7ell,  he  has 
been,  poor  chap  —  awfully  seedy — I  am  really  worried. 
He  may  have  anticipated  a  final  hemorrhage,  and  crawled 
home  to  die."  He  cherished  the  hope  that  Zeal  had  been 
at  pains  to  procure  an  untraceable  drug. 

"Ah!  Well — I  hope  that  is  it  if  the  poor  fellow  is  dead. 
He  looked  as  if  he  had  more  than  ill-health  on  his  mind. 
I  thought  he  had  pulled  up,  but  no  doubt  he  went  to  pieces 
over  some  WTetched  woman  again.  Come,  let  us  get  in. 
I  don't  want  the  servants  to  know  anything  of  this  at 
present." 

They  threw  themselves  against  the  door.  The  old 
gentleman  was  heavy  and  Gwynne  sound  and  wiry  in 
spite  of  his  delicate  appearance.  The  door  was  stout  but 
its  hinges  were  old,  and  after  several  attempts  they  drove 
it  in.  Lord  Strathland's  face  was  pale  and  he  was  pant 
ing,  but  he  led  the  way  rapidly  through  the  sitting-room 
into  the  bedroom. 

Zeal  had  undressed,  extended  himself  on  the  bed,  and 
137 


ANCESTOR S 

covered  his  body  with  an  eider-down  quilt.  Lord  Strath- 
land  jerked  it  off,  and  both  saw  what  they  had  expected 
to  see,  for  a  faint  odor  of  burnt  powder  lingered  in  the 
rooms. 

Lord  Strathland's  face  was  ghastly,  almost  blue.  He 
had  anticipated  death,  not  with  the  imagination  of  the 
young,  but  dully,  through  the  atrophied  faculties  of  his 
age,  and  the  shock  could  hardly  have  been  greater  had  he 
found  his  grandson  without  warning. 

"What  does  this  mean  ?"  he  demanded,  thickly.  "You 
know  and  I  will  know." 

Gwynne  took  him  firmly  by  the  arm  and  turned  him 
about.  "Not  here,"  he  said.  "Come  to  the  library.  I 
will  tell  you,  but  I  am  no  more  fit  to  talk  just  now  than 
you  are  to  listen." 

His  grandfather  submitted,  and  Gwynne  dropped  his 
arm  and  rearranged  the  quilt  over  his  cousin's  body.  At 
the  same  moment  Lord  Strathland's  eyes  lit  on  a  sealed 
letter  addressed  to  himself.  Before  Gwynne  could  inter 
fere  he  had  broken  the  seal.  It  ran: 

"My  LORD, — I  murdered  Brathland.  In  cold  blood — • 
saving  the  fact  that  I  was  drunk.  My  entire  private 
fortune  has  gone  for  purposes  of  blackmail.  Even  that 
might  not  have  saved  me  eventually  from  the  hangman, 
we  have  grown  so  damned  democratic.  All  things  con 
sidered,  I  am  sure  you  will  agree  that  it  is  quite  proper  I 
should  make  the  exit  of  a  gentleman  while  there  is  yet 
time.  Jack  will  give  you  further  particulars,  should  you 
care  to  listen  to  them.  ZEAL." 

He  too  had  known  nothing  of  the  condition  of  his  grand 
father's  heart,  and  it  had  amused  him  to  plan  a  last  shock 

138 


ANCESTORS 

to  the  perennial  optimism  and  complacency  of  the  person 
he  disliked  most  on  earth.  The  smile  was  still  on  his 
frozen  lips  that  expressed  the  amused  anticipation  of  his 
brain.  Death,  to  do  him  justice,  he  had  met  with  none  of 
the  cowardice  he  had  vaunted,  and  consistently  with  his 
arid  cynical  soul. 

"Don't  read  it!  Don't!*'  Gwynne  had  exclaimed,  in 
agony,  and  forgetting  the  awful  figure  on  the  bed  in  his 
alarm  at  the  sight  of  his  grandfather's  face.  "If  you  must 
know  the  truth  let  me  tell  it  in  my  own  way." 

But  Lord  Strathland  read,  and  fell  at  his  feet  like  a 
bundle  of  old  clothes. 


XVII 

wondered  if  he  should  ever  shake  off  the 
pall-like  memories  of  the  past  week:  the  testimony 
before  the  coroner,  in  which  every  word  had  to  be  weighed 
as  carefully  as  if  life  instead  of  the  honor  of  the  worthless 
dead  were  at  stake,  the  reporters  from  the  less  dignified 
of  the  British  newspapers,  and  the  American  correspond 
ents,  two  of  whom  dodged  the  vigilance  of  the  servants, 
entered  the  Abbey  by  a  window,  and  took  snap  shots  of 
the  lower  rooms  and  of  the  coffins  in  the  death-chamber; 
the  painful  scenes  with  the  women  of  the  family,  who  had 
descended  in  a  body;  the  wearisome  interview  with  the 
family  solicitor,  in  the  course  of  which  he  had  learned  that 
he  was  heir  to  little  more  than  the  entailed  properties; 
which  must  be  let  in  order  to  insure  an  income  for  his  three 
unmarried  aunts,  Zeal's  five  girls,  and  himself;  the  hideous 
reiteration  of  "your  lordship"  by  the  obsequious  servants, 
that  reproduced  in  his  mind  the  slow  deep  notes  of  the 
passing  bell,  tolled  in  the  village  for  his  grandfather  and 
cousin. 

A  letter  from  Julia  Kaye  had  fluttered  in  like  a  dove 
of  promise,  but  he  had  never  been  able  to  recall  any 
thing  in  the  six  pages  of  graceful  sympathy  but  her 
allusions  to  the  dead  as  "the  marquess"  and  "the  earl." 
He  told  himself  angrily  that  his  brain  must  have  weakened 
to  notice  a  solecism  at  such  a  time,  but  it  is  in  moments 

140 


A       N      C      E S      T       O       R       S 

of  abnormal  mental  strain  that  trifles  have  their  innings; 
and  during  the  beautiful  service  in  the  chapel  he  caught 
himself  wondering  if  any  woman  of  his  own  class  could 
have  made  such  a  slip.  Always  deaf  to  gossip,  he  had 
no  suspicion  that  his  Julia  had  been  laughed  at  more 
than  once  for  her  inability  to  grasp  all  the  unwritten  laws 
of  a  world  which  she  had  entered  too  late.  With  an  ear  in 
which  a  title  lingered  like  a  full  voluptuous  note  of  music, 
she  was  blunt  to  certain  of  the  democratic  canons  of 
modern  society.  Although  it  gave  her  the  keenest  pleasure 
to  address  the  highest  bulwarks  of  the  peerage  off-handedly 
as  "duke"  and  "duchess,"  there  had  been  moments  of 
confusion  when  she  had  lapsed  naturally  into  "your  grace." 
And  it  would  have  seemed  like  a  lost  opportunity  to  have 
alluded  to  a  titled  foreigner  without  his  "von"  or  "de," 
even  where  there  was  a  more  positive  title  to  use  as  often 
as  she  pleased.  It  was  the  one  weak  spot  in  a  singularly 
acute  and  accomplished  mind. 

But  of  all  this  Gwynne  knew  nothing,  and  he  was  dully 
wondering  if  a  great  love  could  be  affected  by  trifles,  and 
if  his  brain  and  character  were  of  less  immutable  material 
than  he  had  believed,  his  mental  vision  still  straying 
through  the  insupportable  gloom  of  the  past  week,  when  he 
heard  a  light  foot-fall  beyond  the  door.  He  sprang  to  his 
feet,  cursing  his  nerves,  and  was  by  no  means  reassured 
upon  seeing  the  long  figure  of  a  wToman,  dressed  entirely  in 
white,  a  candle  in  her  hand,  approaching  him  down  the 
dark  corridor.  He  had  never  given  a  moment's  thought 
in  his  active  life  to  psychic  phenomena,  but  he  was  in  a 
state  of  mind  where  nothing  would  have  surprised  him, 
and  he  had  turned  cold  to  his  finger-tips  when  a  familiar 
voice  reassured  him. 

141 


ANCESTORS 

"I  am  not  Lady  Macbeth/'  said  Isabel,  with  a  tremor 
in  her  own  voice,  as  she  entered  and  blew  out  the  candle. 
"  But  I  felt  like  her  as  I  braved  the  terrors  of  all  those  dark 
corridors  and  that  staircase  in  my  wild  desire  to  talk  to  a 
living  person.  I  had  arrived  at  that  stage  where  all  your 
ancestors  gibbered  at  the  foot  of  my  bed.  Flora  has  been 
sleeping  with  me,  but  your  mother  wanted  her  to-night, 
and  I  am  deserted." 

"What  a  lot  of  babies  you  are!"  Gwynne  was  delighted 
to  wreak  his  self-contempt  on  some  one  else,  but  glad  of 
the  interruption,  and  unexpectedly  mellowed  by  the  sight 
of  a  pretty  woman  after  the  red  noses  and  sable  plumage 
of  the  past  week.  It  was  true  that  he  had  seen  Isabel  at 
dinner,  but  like  Flora  she  had  worn  a  black  gown  out  of 
respect  to  the  family  woe,  and  he  hated  the  sight  of  black. 

Now  she  wore  a  gown  of  soft  white  wool  fastened  at  the 
throat  and  waist  with  a  blue  ribbon;  and  even  her  profile, 
whose  severity  he  had  disapproved,  having  a  masculine 
weakness  for  pugs,  was  softened  by  the  absence  of  the 
coils  or  braids  that  commonly  framed  it:  her  hair  hung  in 
one  tremendous  plait  to  the  heels  of  her  slippers. 

"I  see  that  you  have  no  more  sleep  in  you  than  I  have," 
he  said.  "Let  us  make  a  night  of  it." 

It  had  rained  all  day  and  he  was  suddenly  alive  to  a 
sense  of  physical  discomfort.  He  rang  and  ordered  a 
servant  to  make  a  fire  and  bring  the  tea-service. 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  here?"  he  asked  Isabel, 
when  they  were  alone  again. 

"I  felt  that  you  were,  but  I  went  first  to  your  room  and 
tapped.  I  was  quite  capable  of  waking  you  up.  Thank 
heaven  I  summoned  the  courage  to  come  down.  This  is 
delightful." 

142 


ANCESTORS 

The  fire  was  crackling  in  the  grate,  the  water  boiling  in 
the  big  silver  kettle.  Isabel  made  his  tea  almost  black, 
but  diluted  her  own,  lest  she  should  be  left  alone  before 
she  too  was  ready  for  sleep. 

"You  have  had  a  beastly  time  these  last  days,"  he  said, 
for  he  was  genuinely  hospitable.  "I  am  sorry  you  did 
not  happen  to  come  a  month  earlier.  Have  you  seen 
anything  of  Hexam  ?  He  was  going  on  to  Arcot." 

"He  rode  over,  or  walked  over,  every  day.  We  should 
have  fallen  a  prey  to  melancholy  without  him,  although 
you  may  believe  me  when  I  assure  you  that  we  thought 
more  of  you  than  we  did  of  ourselves.  I  am  your  own 
blood-relation,  so  I  have  a  right  to  feel  dreadfully  sym 
pathetic — may  I  have  a  cigarette  ?" 

"What  a  brick  you  are  to  smoke!  I  don't  mind  being 
sympathized  with  for  a  change.  I  have  had  to  do  so  much 
sympathizing  with  others  in  the  last  week  that  I  have 
not  had  time  to  pity  myself.  Even  my  mother  went  to 
pieces,  for  she  was  fond  of  Zeal,  poor  old  chap,  and  her 
conscience  scorched  her  because  she  was  always  rather 
nasty  to  my  grandfather — she  likes  and  dislikes  tremen 
dously,  you  know;  although  to  most  people  she  is  merely 
indifferent.  But  when  she  dislikes —  He  blew  the  ashes 
from  the  tip  of  his  cigarette  with  a  slight  whistling  sound. 

Flora  Thangue  had  extracted  all  the  particulars  of  the 
death  and  suicide  from  Lady  Victoria — who  knew  nothing, 
however,  of  the  tragic  cause  of  both — and  imparted  them 
to  Isabel,  whose  mind,  in  consequence,  was  free  of  mor 
bid  curiosity.  She  had  also  read  the  newspapers.  The 
speculations  and  veiled  hints  of  the  sensational  sheets 
had  not  interested  her,  but  she  had  pondered  deeply  over 
leaders  in  the  more  dignified  organs,  which  had  abounded 


ANCESTORS 

in  comment  upon  the  changed  conditions  in  the  meteoric 
career  of  the  young  man  who  was  no  longer  Elton  Gwynne, 
but  a  peer  of  the  realm. 

"Do  you  mind  it  so  awfully  much?"  she  asked,  after 
a  short  silence  during  which  they  had  both  smoked  ab 
sently  and  gazed  at  the  fire. 

"What  ?"  Gwynne  turned  the  cold  surprise  of  his  eyes 
upon  her.  "Losing  two  of  the  four  people  I  cared  most 
for  on  earth  ?" 

"Of  course  not.  Being  suddenly  made  a  peer  and 
having  to  begin  all  over.  You  never  will  be  called  Elton 
Gwynne  again,  and  you  will  have  as  much  trouble  educat 
ing  the  public  up  to  your  new  name  as  if  you  were  emerg 
ing  from  obscurity  for  the  first  time." 

The  words,  brutally  direct,  rolled  away  the  last  clouds 
of  his  lethargy.  He  vividly  realized  that  he  had  been 
skulking  before  the  closed  shutters  of  his  understanding, 
accepting  the  new  conditions  with  but  the  dulled  surface 
of  his  brain. 

Now  his  naked  soul  stared  at  her  out  of  his  white  face 
and  tortured  eyes,  and  she  looked  away.  She  had  not 
believed  that  he  could  be  racked  with  feeling  of  any  sort, 
and  it  was  as  if  she  heard  him  cry:  "Oh,  God!  Oh, 
God!"  although  his  lips  were  silent. 

But  she  did  not  change  the  subject. 

"I  suppose  you  haven't  seen  the  newspapers,"  she  said. 
"I  cut  out  all  the  editorials  and  paragraphs  I  thought 
would  interest  you.  One  of  the  big  dailies,  I  forget  which, 
said  that  the  interruption  of  your  career  was  a  greater  po 
litical  tragedy  than  Parneirs  or  Lord  Randolph  Churchill's. 

"Do  they  say  that?"  asked  Gwynne,  eagerly.  "Well, 
God  knows,  it  is  a  tragedy  for  me." 

144 


A_    N      C    _E_    S      T      O       R       S 

"Don't  you  like  being  a  peer  the  least  little  bit  ?  I  am 
too  feminine,  possibly  too  American,  not  to  see  a  certain 
picturesqueness  in  a  title,  especially  in  such  a  pretty  one 
as  yours;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  you  are  a  more  im 
posing  figure  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  to-day  than  you  were 
a  week  ago.  Are  you  really  indifferent  to  that  side  of  it  ?" 

"Am  I?  One  does  such  a  lot  of  self-posing  and  self- 
imposition.  There  are  few  things  in  this  world  that 
gratify  a  man's  vanity  more  than  being  a  peer  of  Great 
Britain,  and,  no  doubt,  had  I  happened  to  be  born  with 
out  what  you  might  call  a  fighting  ambition,  and  certain 
abilities,  I  should — barring  natural  grief — feel  that  I  was 
one  of  the  favorites  of  destiny — that  is  to  say  if  I  had  a 
commensurate  income.  The  fact  that  I  must  let  the 
Abbey  and  Capheaton,  and  after  portioning  off  all  the 
unmarried  women  of  the  family,  shall  have  barely  enough 
left  to  keep  up  my  flat  in  Charles  Street,  may  have  some 
thing  to  do  with  my  absence  of  enthusiasm.  But — yes — 
I  am  sure  of  myself!"  he  burst  out.  "I  am  the  most 
miserable  man  on  earth  to-night,  and  the  reason  is  not 
that  I  have  lost  two  good  friends,  but  because  my  career 
is  ruined,  broken  off  in  the  middle." 

"You  could  become  a  militant  Liberal  peer." 

"Paradoxes  don't  happen  to  appeal  to  me.  And  the 
only  chance  for  a  genuine  fighter  is  the  House  of  Commons. 
Besides,  it  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  be  a  peer  and  remain 
a  true  Liberal.  Power,  and  inherited  influence,  and 
exalted  social  position  have  a  deadly  insinuation.  I  don't 
believe  any  man  is  strong  enough  to  withstand  them. 
There  is  never  an  hour  that  a  peer  is  not  reminded  of  his 
difference  from  the  mass  of  humanity;  and  human  nature 
is  too  weak  to  resist  complacency  in  the  end — long  before 

145 


ANCESTORS 

the  end.  And  complacency  is  the  premature  old  age  of 
the  brain  and  character.  If  this  tragedy  had  not  oc 
curred,  even  if  my  grandfather  had  lived  on  for  fifteen 
years  more,  as  there  was  every  reason  to  believe  he  would, 
I  might  have  gone  on  that  much  longer  before  discovering 
weak  points  in  my  character.  Now  God  knows  what  I 
shall  develop." 

"Have  you  made  any  plans?" 

"  Plans  ?     I  hadn't  faced  the  situation  until  you  spoke." 

"You  have  weak  spots  like  other  people,  of  course. 
You  would  be  a  horrid  prig  if  you  hadn't.  But  you  surely 
must  know  if  your  Liberalism  is  sincere,  ingrained.  There 
is  no  question  that  you  are  a  hopeless  aristocrat  in  essentials. 
But  so  have  been  certain  of  America's  greatest  patriots — 
Washington  and  Hamilton,  for  instance.  I  do  not  see 
that  it  matters.  One  can  hold  to  what  seems  to  me  the 
first  principles  of  advanced  civilization — that  hereditary 
monarchy  is  an  insult  to  self-respecting  and  enlightened 
men — without  wishing  to  associate  with  those  that  offend 
grammar  and  good  taste.  Education,  intellect,  breeding, 
would  create  an  aristocracy  among  anarchists  on  a  desert 
island — supposing  any  possessed  them;  and  in  time  it 
would  become  as  intolerant  of  liberties  as  if  it  harked  back 
to  the  battle  of  Hastings.  There  is  no  plant  that  grows  so 
rapidly  in  the  human  garden  as  self-superiority,  and  it  is 
ridiculous  only  when  watered  by  nothing  more  excusable 
than  the  arbitrary  social  conditions  that  exist  in  the 
United  States.  I  don't  see  that  the  qualities  you  have 
inherited  should  interfere  with  your  ability  to  see  the  jus 
tice  and  rationality  of  self-government." 

"They  do  not!"  She  seemed  to  beat  his  thoughts  into 
their  old  coherent  and  logical  forms.  "Whatever  may 

146 


ANCESTORS 

have  been  the  various  motives  that  impelled  me  into  the 
Liberal  party  in  the  beginning,  there  is  no  question  that  I 
have  become  even  more  extreme  and  single-minded  than 
I  have  let  the  world  know.  Perhaps  it  is  my  American 
blood,  although  I  never  thought  of  that  before.  At  all 
events,  had  the  time  been  ripe  I  should  have  devoted  all 
the  gift  for  leadership  I  now  possess,  and  all  the  power 
I  could  build  up,  to  overturning  monarchy  in  this  country 
and  establishing  a  republic.  There!  I  never  confessed 
as  much  to  a  living  soul,  but  I  think  you  have  bewitched 
me,  for  I  never  have  been  less — or  more — myself!" 

"With  yourself  as  President?" 

"Sooner  or  later — the  sooner  the  better.  But  I  waste 
no  time  in  dreams,  my  fair  cousin — although  I  have  some 
thing  of  a  tendency  that  way.  It  was  enough  that  I  had 
a  great  and  useful  career  before  me  and  might  have  gone 
into  history  as  the  prime  factor  of  the  great  change." 

"Well,  that  is  over,"  said  Isabel,  conclusively.  "There 
is  only  one  thing  left  you  and  that  is  to  come  over  and  be 
an  American." 

"What?"     He  stared,  and  then  laughed.     "Ah!" 

"You  will  have  all  the  righting  you  want  over  there. 
You  will  have  to  work  twenty  times  harder  than  you  ever 
did  here,  for  your  accent,  your  personality,  the  thirty  years 
you  have  lived  out  of  the  country  you  were  born  in,  all 
will  be  against  you.  You  will  have  to  be  naturalized  in 
spite  of  your  birth — I  happen  to  know  of  a  similar  case  in 
my  father's  practice — and  that  will  take  five  years.  In 
those  five  years  you  will  encounter  all  the  difficulties  that 
strew  the  way  of  the  foreigner  who  would  gain  the  con 
fidence  of  the  shrewd  American  people — they  are  most 
characteristic  in  the  small  towns  and  farming  districts. 

147 


ANCESTORS 

You  will  win  because  you  were  born  to  win,  but  you  will 
learn  for  the  first  time  what  it  is  to  stand  and  fight  ab 
solutely  alone — for  if  they  learn  of  your  exalted  birth 
they  will  but  distrust  you  the  more;  and  you  will  taste 
the  sweets  of  real  success  for  the  first  time  in  your  life. 
In  spite  of  your  youth  and  enthusiasm,  there  is  in  you  a 
vein  of  inevitable  cynicism,  for  you  have  had  far  too  much 
experience  of  the  flatterer  and  the  toady.  You  are  too 
honest  not  to  confess  that  if  you  had  been  born  John 
Smith  there  would  have  been  no  editorial  comments  of  any 
sort  upon  the  tragic  end  of  your  relatives,  and  the  great 
world  would  have  taken  as  little  notice  of  your  abilities 
until  you  had  compelled  its  unwilling  attention  by  many 
more  years  of  hard  work.  America  will  take  you  for 
exactly  what  you  are  and  no  more.  But  you  will  have  to 
become  more  American  than  the  Americans;  although 
you  may  continue  to  say  'ain't  it*  and  'it's  me*  and  drop 
your  final  £S,  because  those  are  all  the  hall-marks  of  the 
half-educated  in  the  United  States,  and  will  rather  help 
you  than  otherwise.  Of  course  you  will  assume  charge 
of  your  own  ranch,  for  that  will  not  only  give  you  plenty 
to  do,  but  it  will  be  the  quickest  way  of  becoming  one  of 
the  people;  and  after  you  have  been  out  in  all  weathers 
for  a  year  or  two,  turned  a  dark  brown  down  to  your 
chest,  ridden  a  loping  horse  on  a  Mexican  saddle,  talked 
politics  on  street  corners  and  in  saloons,  left  your  muddy 
or  dusty  wagon  once  a  week  at  the  Rosewater  hitching- 
rail  while  you  transact  business  in  a  linen  duster,  or  yel 
low  oil-skin  overalls  and  rubber  boots,  you  will  feel  so 
American — Californian,  to  be  exact — that  the  mere  mem 
ory  of  this  formal  cut-and-dried  Old  World  will  fill  you 
with  ennui/' 

148 


ANCESTORS 

There  was  a  glint  of  laughter  in  Gwynne's  eyes,  but  they 
were  widely  open  and  very  bright. 

"I  see!  You  are  determined  to  make  a  convert  of  me. 
You  began  the  night  of  your  arrival.  I  suspect  you  of 
having  come  over  on  a  crusade." 

"That  was  the  moment  of  inspiration — that  first  night. 
I  won't  deny  that  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  it 
since — of  little  else  since  I  read  those  editorials." 

He  leaned  back  and  regarded  the  sole  of  his  shoe  as  if  it 
were  a  familiar.  "That  is  a  large  order,"  he  said,  in  a 
moment.  "Colossal!  There  might  be  worse  solutions. 
And  the  life  of  a  cow-boy,  for  a  while  at  least — 

"Don't  delude  yourself.  You  would  not  be  the  least* 
bit  of  a  cow-boy.  You  wouldn't  even  look  picturesque — 
if  you  did  you  might  be  sorry.  You  would  just  be  a  plain 
northern  California  rancher.  Of  course  you  would  have 
all  the  riding  you  wanted,  but  there  are  no  round-ups 
worth  speaking  of  on  a  ranch  the  size  of  Lumalitas.  And 
probably  you  would  continue  to  let  sections  of  it  to  men 
that  wanted  to  raise  cattle  or  horses  on  a  small  scale. 
You  had  better  devote  yourself  to  the  dairy  and  to  raising 
hay  and  grain,  and  turn  about  five  hundred  acres  into  a 
chicken-ranch — nothing  pays  like  that." 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  as  heartily  as  if 
death  and  disaster  had  never  been. 

"From  the  English  hustings  and  the  greatest  parlia 
mentary  body  the  world  has  ever  known  to  chickens  and 
butter  in  California!  From  Capheaton  to  Rosewater,  oil 
skin  overalls  and  a  linen  '  duster!'  Oh,  Lord!  Oh,  Lord! 
But  give  me  a  comprehensive  idea  of  the  place,  in  your 
own  inimitable  unvarnished  diction.  That  will  keep  the 
ghosts  off,  at  all  events." 

149 


XVIII 

JULIA  KAYE  was  one  of  those  women  designed  by 
nature  for  the  role  of  a  Valerie  Marneffe,  or  of  that 
astute  Parisian's  bourgeoise  and  more  romantic  daughter, 
Emma  Bovary;  but  tossed,  in  the  gamble  of  the  fates,  into 
a  setting  of  respectable  opulence,  where  her  instincts  for 
prey  were  trimmed  of  their  crudities,  and  the  vehemence 
of  her  passions  subdued  by  the  opportunity  to  gratify  all 
other  whims  and  desires. 

Her  father,  born  in  the  sooty  alley  of  a  manufacturing 
town  in  the  north  of  England,  had  run  away  to  sea  in  his 
boyhood,  deserted  in  the  port  of  New  York,  starved, 
stolen,  peddled,  washed  dishes  in  cheap  restaurants,  shov 
elled  snow,  tramped  to  Chicago,  starved  and  peddled  and 
shovelled  again,  finally  found  a  position  with  a  firm  of 
wholesale  druggists.  He  attended  a  night  school,  proved 
himself  a  lad  of  uncommon  sharpness,  and  in  less  than  a 
year  was  first  packing  and  then  dispensing  drugs.  Five 
years  later  he  was  drawing  a  large  salary,  and  at  the  age 
of  thirty  he  had  opened  a  retail  drug  store  of  his  own. 

It  was  during  his  earlier  period  of  comparative  leisure 
and  peace  of  mind  that  he  began  to  test  the  inventive 
faculty  that  had  pricked  him  in  small  but  significant  ways 
during  his  boyhood.  His  first  inventions  were  of  a  minor 
importance,  although  they  increased  his  income  and  were 
permanently  remunerative;  but  when  he  turned  the  torch 

150 


ANCESTORS 

of  his  genius  upon  the  fatal  antipathies  of  vermin,  his 
success  was  so  deservedly  rewarded  that  he  was  a  million 
aire  in  less  than  three  years.  He  returned  to  England, 
and,  avoiding  the  alley  of  inglorious  memory,  courted 
and  won  the  daughter  of  a  manufacturer,  his  ambition 
driving  him  to  compel  social  recognition  in  his  native  city. 
It  soared  no  higher,  but  his  wife,  now  no  longer  one  of  a 
large  family,  but  with  the  income  of  a  generous  millionaire 
at  her  disposal,  was  open  to  higher  promptings;  and  he  to 
conversion.  They  moved  to  London  and  laid  their  plans 
with  some  skill. 

But  although  London  can  stand  a  good  deal  in  the 
cause  of  resupply  and  novelty,  the  violence  of  Mrs.  Tip- 
pett's  accent,  and  the  terrible  solecisms  of  a  gentleman 
whose  education  had  begun  in  a  Lancashire  alley  and 
finished  in  the  business  purlieus  of  Chicago,  who  had 
acquired  the  American  vice  of  brag  in  its  acutest  form, 
and  who,  when  in  his  cups,  shouted  and  spat  and  swore, 
were  more  than  the  most  enterprising  among  them  had 
been  called  upon  to  endure.  The  social  ambitions  of  the 
Tippetts  were  so  definitely  quenched  that  the  indignant 
millionaire  threatened  to  return  to  Chicago.  But  Mrs. 
Tippett  moved  him  firmly  to  Brighton,  where,  in  the 
course  of  time,  she  toned  him  down.  They  made  their 
way  slowly  into  society  of  a  sort,  and  attracted  the  atten 
tion  of  the  public.  There  was  no  law  to  prevent  them 
from  dining  at  the  fashionable  hotels,  where  Paris  gowns 
could  not  pass  unobserved;  and  their  turnouts  were  irre 
proachable. 

Mrs.  Tippet,  an  astute  woman,  by  this  time  had  real 
ized  that  hers  was  not  the  destiny  of  the  social  star,  and 
she  concentrated  her  hopes  and  ambitions  upon  her  one 

'51 


ANCESTORS 

child,  an  uncommonly  clever  little  girl.  This  child  grew 
up  in  a  luxury  that  would  have  stifled  even  her  precocious 
mind  had  it  not  been  for  the  rigid  laws  of  the  school-room. 
Her  governesses  and  tutors  were  selected  with  a  sharp 
eye  to  the  number  of  titles  in  their  reference-books,  but 
dismissed  promptly  if  they  were  unworthy  of  their  hire. 
Later,  the  little  Julia  was  sent  to  a  distinguished  school 
near  Paris,  where,  with  an  eye  to  her  future  well-being, 
remarkable  in  one  so  young,  she  divided  her  affectionate 
affluence  among  the  few  whose  exalted  station  made  them 
worth  the  while  of  a  maiden  with  an  indefinite  future. 

These  friends  did  not  prove  as  useful  as  she  had  hoped. 
At  home  there  were  her  parents  to  terrify  theirs,  and  al 
though  she  visited  at  several  chateaux,  and  more  than  one 
title  was  laid  at  her  gilded  feet,  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
read  her  name  in  Burke. 

She  took  her  parents  for  a  tour  round  the  world  with  a 
view  to  polishing  off  their  lingering  idiosyncrasies,  and 
her  chance  came  in  India,  where  she  buried  them  both. 
They  succumbed  to  cholera,  and  the  kindly  wife  of  the 
viceroy,  to  whom  she  had  had  the  forethought  to  secure 
a  letter,  sent  for  her  to  come  to  Simla  and  remain  as  her 
guest  until  she  found  courage  and  a  chaperon  for  the  re 
turn  to  England.  Here  she  met  Captain,  the  Honorable 
Augustus  Kaye,  heir  to  an  ancient  barony,  chivalrous,  im 
pressionable,  and  hard-up.  They  were  married  with  the 
blessings  of  old  friends  and  new,  and,  to  do  her  full  justice, 
she  made  him  a  good  wife  according  to  her  lights.  She 
was  quite  insanely  in  love  with  him  at  first,  for  he  looked 
like  one  of  Ouida's  guardsmen,  and  his  pedigree  was  so 
long,  and  so  varied  with  romantic  historic  episode,  that 
she  was  fully  a  week  committing  it  to  memory. 

152 


ANCESTORS 

When  he  left  the  army  and  they  had  returned  to  Eng 
land — via  Paris — she  had  the  wardrobe  and  establishment 
of  a  princess,  the  right  to  dine  at  the  Queen's  table,  and 
not  a  relative  in  London.  She  was  immoderately  happy, 
and  during  the  five  years  of  her  wedded  life  she  exhausted 
the  first  strength  of  her  affections,  buried  her  feminine 
caprice,  and  whatever  of  impulse  youth  may  have  clung 
to  as  its  right.  When  Gussy  Kaye  died,  the  predominant 
feeling  in  her  bosom  was  rage  at  his  inconsiderateness  in 
leaving  the  world  before  his  father,  and  nothing  behind 
him  but  a  courtesy  prefix  which  she  could  not  even  use 
on  her  cards. 

She  opened  her  soul  to  searching,  and  decided  that  five 
years  of  love  were  quite  enough  for  any  woman,  and  that 
her  attentions  hereafter  should  be  directed  towards  the 
highest  worldly  success  obtainable  with  brains,  talents,  and 
wealth.  To  be  merely  a  rich  woman  in  the  right  set  did 
not  come  within  measurable  distance  of  her  ambition's 
apex,  and  she  determined  to  gratify  her  passionate  self- 
love  by  becoming  a  personality. 

She  had  long  since  simulated  the  repose  of  the  high 
born  Englishwoman,  until,  like  all  imitators,  she  far  sur 
passed  her  models,  and  her  manners  were  marked  not  so 
much  by  the  caste  of  Vere  de  Vere  as  by  an  almost  negative 
stolidity.  This  at  least  provided  her  with  an  unruffled 
front  for  trying  occasions — others  besides  the  Arcots  were 
insensible  of  her  offerings — which  in  the  United  States 
of  America  would  have  been  admiringly  characterized  as 
"  nerve."  This  manner  became  solidified  after  her  popular 
husband's  death,  and  if  it  was  generally  referred  to  as 
"aplomb"  or  "poise,"  allowances  must  be  made  for  the 
poverty  of  the  average  vocabulary. 

153 


ANCESTORS 

It  is  not  difficult  for  a  clever,  handsome,  correct,  and 
wealthy  woman  to  reach  and  hold  a  distinctive  position 
even  in  London,  that  world's  headquarters  of  individuali 
ties.  In  addition  to  a  judiciously  lavish  hospitality,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  personalize  intelligently,  and  this  Mrs. 
Kaye  did  with  an  industry  that  would  have  carried  her  to 
greatness  had  she  been  granted  a  spark  of  the  divine  fire. 
She  cultivated  the  great  and  the  fashionable  in  art,  letters, 
and  the  drarna,  mixed  them  tactfully  with  her  titles,  at 
tended  the  banquets  of  the  ruling  class  in  Bohemia  attired 
flatteringly  in  her  best,  and  founded  a  society  for  the  study 
of  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  She  became  intimate  with  several 
royal  ladies,  who  were  charmed  with  her  endless  power 
to  amuse  them  and  her  magnificent  patronage  of  their 
charities;  and  she  formed  close  relations  with  other  dames 
but  a  degree  less  exalted,  and  generally  more  discriminat 
ing.  She  cultivated  a  witty  habit  of  speech,  the  society  of 
cabinet  ministers,  and  her  chef  was  a  celebrity.  Her 
gowns  would  have  been  notable  in  New  York,  and  she 
was  wise  enough  to  avoid  eccentricity  and  openly  to  re 
gard  all  forms  of  sensationalism  with  a  haughty  disdain. 

Her  attitude  to  men  was  equally  well-advised.  Det 
rimentals  and  ineligibles  never  so  much  as  came  up  for 
inspection;  she  had  a  far-reaching  sense  of  selection  and  a 
proper  notion  of  the  value  of  time.  Therefore,  the  many 
that  had  the  run  of  her  luxurious  mansion  contributed 
personally  to  her  prestige,  and  she  flattered  herself  that  her 
particular  band  was  little  less  distinguished  than  the 
Royal  Household.  And  they  invariably  found  her  w^itty, 
entertaining,  or,  like  Madame  Recamier,  ready  to  listen 
"avec  seduction."  Her  knowledge  of  politics  was  prac 
tically  unbounded. 


ANCESTORS 

In  such  moments  as  she  happened  to  be  alone  with  any 
of  her  swains,  she  became  distractingly  personal,  inviting, 
gently  repelling,  afforded  dazzling  glimpses  of  possibilities 
awaiting  time  and  the  man:  so  accomplishing  the  double 
purpose  of  agreeably  titillating  her  own  depths  and  wear 
ing  the  halo  of  a  well-behaved  Circe.  Altogether  her 
success  was  what  it  always  must  be  when  brains  and  am 
bition,  money  and  a  cold  heart  are  allied;  but  it  was  small 
wonder  if  the  head  of  the  daughter  of  the  House  of  Tippett 
was  a  trifle  turned  and  certain  of  her  perceptions  were 
blunted. 

Although  ofttimes  large  with  complacency,  she  by  no 
means  lost  sight  of  her  original  purpose  to  wed  a  coronet, 
and  if  she  endured  four  years  of  widowhood  it  was  merely 
because  she  knew  that  she  could  afford  to  wait  for  tran 
scendence.  This  she  had  finally  run  to  earth  in  Lord 
Brathland,  imminent  heir  to  a  dukedom,  and  personally 
more  agreeable  to  her  than  any  man  in  London.  That  he 
was  notoriously  inconstant  but  added  zest  to  the  chase, 
and  it  was,  perhaps,  the  illusion  she  at  times  achieved  of  a 
certain  resemblance  to  the  ladies  of  his  preference  that 
finally  overcame  his  intense  aversion  from  respectability. 
He  had  offered  himself  to  her  on  the  day  of  his  undoing. 

This  was  the  woman  with  whom  Elton  Gwynne  was 
infatuated  at  the  most  critical  moment  of  his  career.  Of 
her  profound  aybsses  he  suspected  nothing.  She  reigned 
in  his  imagination  as  the  unique  woman  in  whom  intellect 
and  passion,  tenderness  and  all  the  social  graces  united 
in  an  exquisite  harmony.  There  had  been  a  time  when, 
dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  ascending  star,  and  Brath 
land  being  but  a  name  to  her,  she  had  considered  marriage 
with  a  man  who  assuredly  would  be  the  next  leader  of  a 


A      N      C       E       S       TORS 

Liberal  House,  and  was  no  less  certain  of  being  prime- 
minister.  She  was  under  no  delusion  that  she  could  one 
day  induce  him  to  accept  a  peerage,  but  she  was  reasonably 
sure  that  Zeal  would  not  marry  again,  and  there  were 
times  when  the  heir  looked  so  ill  that  she  tightened  her 
bonds  about  the  heir-presumptive,  while  assuring  him 
that  she  was  too  much  in  love  with  liberty  to  think  of 
marriage.  Even  when  Zeal  came  back  from  Norway  or 
Sorrento  looking  almost  well,  she  never  permitted  Gwynne 
to  escape,  to  see  so  much  as  a  corner  of  her  ego  that  might 
disturb  the  image  of  herself  she  had  created  in  his  mind; 
and  when  she  met  Brathland  and  her  senses  swam  with 
the  subtle  scent  of  strawberry  leaves,  she  saw  no  reason 
for  losing  the  stimulating  society  and  flattering  attentions 
of  the  brightest  star  in  the  political  firmament.  There 
fore,  when  he  was  ready  to  hand,  in  the  crushing  hour  of 
her  riven  ambitions,  and  his  own  of  serenest  effulgence,  she 
promptly  reflected  that  the  distance  between  a  marquisate 
and  a  dukedom  was  quickly  traversed  by  a  powerful  states 
man.  Meanwhile,  although  Elton  Gwynne  would  no 
doubt  be  a  hideous  trial  as  a  husband,  his  wife's  position, 
supported  by  a  million  in  the  funds  and  another  in  Chicago, 
would  be  one  of  the  most  brilliant  in  England.  And  she 
too  had  seen  Lord  Zeal  in  Piccadilly  on  Saturday. 


XIX 


THE  sudden  elevation  of  her  Jack  to  a  marquisate, 
beside  whose  roots,  gripping  the  foundations  of 
Britain's  aristocracy,  and  ramifying  the  length  and  breadth 
of  its  society,  the  lost  dukedom  was  a  mere  mushroom, 
created  for  a  favorite  of  the  last  George,  and  notorious  for 
its  mesalliances,  did  not  cost  Mrs.  Kaye  a  moment's  loss 
of  poise.  She  merely  wondered  that  she  had  ever  ques 
tioned  her  star.  People  that  disliked  her  found  a  subtle 
suggestion  of  arrogance  in  her  manner,  and  the  slight 
significant  smile  on  her  large  firm  lips  was  a  trifle  more 
stereotyped.  Those  that  she  favored  with  the  abundance 
of  her  offerings  remembered  afterwards  that  she  had  never 
been  so  brilliant  as  during  the  month  that  followed  the 
announcement  of  her  bethrothal,  and  attributed  the  fact 
to  the  electrified  springs  of  affection. 

Gwynne  and  she  had  been  invited  to  the  same  houses 
for  the  rest  of  the  autumn,  but  he  cancelled  his  engage 
ments  while  begging  her  to  fulfil  hers,  as  he  should  be  too 
busy  to  entertain  her  were  she  so  sweet  as  to  insist  upon 
coming  to  Capheaton.  This  she  had  not  the  least  in 
tention  of  doing,  for  she  not  only  yearned  for  the  additional 
tribute  due  to  her,  but  she  always  avoided  long  sojourns 
in  Lady  Victoria's  vicinity,  knowing  her  as  a  woman  of 
caprice,  who  often  dropped  people  as  abruptly  as  she  took 
them  up.  Susceptible  to  the  charm  of  novelty,  so  far  Mrs. 


ANCESTORS 

Kaye  had  wholly  pleased  her;  but  the  clever  Julia  gauged 
the  depths  of  her  future  mother-in-law's  credulity  and  kept 
her  distance.  With  all  her  reason  for  self-gratulation,  in 
the  depths  of  her  cynical  soul  she  was  quite  aware  of  her 
natural  inferiority  to  the  women  she  emulated  in  all  but 
their  license.  That  prerogative,  with  the  wisdom  that  had 
marked  her  upward  course,  she  had  flagrantly  avoided, 
knowing  that  the  world  is  complacent  only  to  those  that 
fire  its  snobbishness,  never  to  those  that  fan  the  flame; 
and  while  she  bitterly  envied  these  women,  she  never  forgot 
the  market  value  of  her  own  unimpeachable  virtue.  She 
could  not  in  any  case  have  been  the  slave  of  her  passions, 
but  her  serenity  was  sometimes  ruffled  as  she  reflected  that, 
in  spite  of  eminence  achieved,  her  caution  in  this  and  in 
other  respects  branded  her  in  her  secret  soul  as  second 
rate. 

But  if  she  tactfully  did  not  insist  upon  flying  to  Ca- 
pheaton,  she  wrote  such  charming  letters,  happily  free  of 
solecisms,  that  Gwynne  wondered  at  his  failure  to  sound 
the  depths  of  her  charm.  But  he  refrained  from  meeting 
her,  and  the  reason  was  that  he  was  slowly  working  towards 
a  momentous  decision,  and  wished  to  arm  himself  at  all 
points  before  braving  her  possible  disapproval.  When  he 
was  his  cool  normal  collected  self  again,  he  gave  way  to 
his  impatience  to  see  the  woman  he  had  every  reason  to 
believe  was  deeply  in  love  with  him.  He  telegraphed  her 
a  peremptory  appeal  to  go  up  to  her  house  in  London, 
and  she  was  too  wise  to  refuse.  It  was  now  October  and 
London  quite  bearable.  She  telegraphed  to  her  servants 
to  strip  her  house  of  its  summer  shroud,  and  returned 
early  on  the  day  of  his  choice. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  state  that  Mrs.  Kaye  lived  in 

158 


A      N      C       E       S       T      0       R       S 

Park  Lane.  She  had  cultivated  half-tones  with  a  notable 
success,  but  to  symbolize  her  new  estate  was  a  temptation 
it  had  not  occurred  to  her  to  resist.  Shortly  after  her  re 
turn  from  India  she  had  bought  a  large  house  in  the 
facade  of  London,  and  furnished  it  with  a  luxury  that 
satisfied  one  of  the  deepest  cravings  of  her  being,  while 
her  admirable  sense  of  balance  saved  her  from  the  peculiar 
extravagances  of  the  cocotte. 

She  had  seen  Lady  Victoria's  expressive  boudoir  at 
Capheaton,  and  its  mate  in  Curzon  Street,  and  relieved 
the  envy  they  inspired  in  a  caustic  epigram  that  happi 
ly  did  not  reach  the  insolent  beauty's  ear.  "These  old 
coquettes,"  she  had  lisped,  with  an  amused  uplift  of  one 
eyebrow.  "They  surround  themselves  with  the  atmos 
phere  of  the  demi-monde  and  forget  that  a  wrinkle  is  as 
fatal  as  a  chaperon. " 

The  pictures  in  her  own  house  were  as  correct  as  they 
were  costly,  and  she  had  no  boudoir.  She  invariably  re 
ceived  her  guests  in  the  drawing-room,  an  immense  and 
unique  apartment,  with  a  frieze  of  dusky  copies  of  old 
masters,  all  of  a  size,  and  all  framed  in  gilt  as  dim  writh 
time.  From  them  depended  a  tapestry  of  crimson  silk 
brocade  of  uncheckered  surface.  By  a  cunning  arrange 
ment  of  furniture  the  great  room  was  broken  up  into  a 
semblance  of  smaller  ones,  each  with  its  group  of  com 
fortable  chairs,  its  tea-table,  or  book  case,  or  cabinet  of 
bibelots,  or  open  hearth.  And  all  exhaled  the  inviting 
atmosphere  of  occupation. 

Mrs.  Kaye,  rested,  and  more  self-possessed  than  if  the 
hastening  lover  had  been  the  late  Lord  Brathland,  but 
agreeably  stirred  nevertheless,  awaited  the  new  peer  in 
a  charming  corner  before  a  screen  of  dull  gold,  the  last 


ANCESTORS 

reviews  on  a  table  beside  her,  the  afternoon  sun  shining 
in  on  her  healthy  unworn  face.  When  he  entered  and 
advanced  impetuously  across  the  room  she  decided  that 
he  certainly  was  a  dear,  even  if  he  lacked  the  fascination 
of  Brathland  and  his  kind.  And  his  halo  was  almost 
visible.  She  therefore  yielded  enchantingly  when  he  en 
veloped  her,  smothered  her,  stormed  her  lips,  and  even 
pulled  her  hair.  She  finally  got  him  over  to  the  little 
sofa — she  had  advanced  to  meet  him — but  remained  in 
his  arm,  the  very  picture  of  tender  voluptuous  young 
womanhood.  Indeed,  she  was  well  pleased,  and  found 
her  Jack,  with  that  light  blazing  in  his  eyes,  quite  hand 
some,  and  fascinating  in  his  own  boyish  imperious  self- 
confident  way. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  she  rang  for  tea,  and  then 
she  looked  so  pretty  and  domestic  on  the  other  side  of  the 
little  table,  with  its  delicate  and  costly  service,  that  Gwynne 
was  obliged  to  pause  and  summon  all  his  resolution  be 
fore  proceeding  to  another  subject  that  possessed  him 
as  fully  as  herself;  but  he  succeeded,  for  not  even  pas 
sion  could  turn  him  from  his  course;  and  she  gave  him  his 
opening. 

"Poor  Lord  Strathland!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  tear  in 
her  throat.  "He  was  always  so  jolly  and  amusing,  quite 
the  most  cheerful  person  I  ever  met.  And  before  your 
cousin  became — lost  his  health — we  were  great  friends. 
Indeed  he  never  quite  forgot  me.  But  it  was  for  you  I  was 
so  horribly  cut  up.  I  cried  for  two  nights." 

"Did  you  ?  But  I  was  positive  you  did  not  make  those 
tears  in  your  first  letter  with  your  hair-brush."  He  laughed 
like  a  happy  school-boy,  while  she  protested  with  a  roughish 
expression  that  made  her  look  like  a  very  young  girl. 

1 60 


ANCESTORS 

"It  need  not  prevent  our  immediate  marriage,"  he  said. 
"What  do  you  say  to  the  last  of  this  month?" 

"I  could  get  ready.  Only  girls,  who  never  have  any 
clothes,  poor  things,  get  trousseaux  in  these  days.  I  had 
set  my  heart  upon  spending  the  honeymoon  at  the  Abbey, 
but  it  would  be  rather  indecent  yet  awhile;  don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

He  had  not  an  atom  of  tact  and  rushed  upon  his  doom. 
"We  shall  have  to  cut  the  Abbey,"  he  said,  firmly.  "I  start 
for  California  three  weeks  from  to-day." 

"Indeed?"  she  said,  stiffly.  "I  should  have  thought 
you  would  have  consulted  me.  Not  but  that  I  shall  be 
enchanted  to  visit  California,  but — well,  you  are  rather 
lordly,  you  know." 

"My  dear  girl,  I  have  been  too  harassed  to  consider  the 
amenities.  And  when  a  man  is  rearranging  his  whole  life 
he  must  isolate  himself  or  run  the  risk  of  clouds  in  his 
judgment." 

He  paused.  She  disguised  her  mortification  and  an 
swered,  kindly:  "I  can  understand  that  in  this  sudden  de 
mand  for  readjustment  you  have  had  many  bad  moments. 
It  wras  far  too  soon  for  you  to  go  up  to  the  Peers'.  But 
with  your  marvellous  energies,  your  genius  —  there  is  no 
other  word  for  it — you  can  soon  astonish  the  world  anew 
with  a  patent  for  defossilization.  At  all  events  the  Peers' 
will  enter  upon  a  new  life  as  a  sort  of  mastodon  cave 
swept  out  and  illuminated  by  the  most  energetic  and  as 
piring  of  knights-errant." 

Gwynne  laughed  dryly.  "The  role  does  not  appeal  to 
me;  nor  any  other  in  the  same  setting.  I  have  done  a 
month  of  the  hardest  thinking  of  my  life.  Everything 
that  went  before  looks  like  child's  play.  I  have  arrived 

161 


ANCESTORS 

at  the  definite  conclusion  that  my  career  in  England  has 
come  to  a  full  stop,  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  cre 
ate  another — out  of  whole  cloth — in  the  United  States." 

She  stared  at  him,  her  face  not  yet  unset,  but  her  eyes 
expanding  with  incredulous  apprehension.  "You  mean 
to  desert  England  ?"  she  asked,  quietly. 

"Forever.  Absolutely.  It  is  all  or  nothing.  I  can 
not  become  an  American  citizen  until  five  years  after  en 
tering  the  country,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  lose  any  valuable 
time.  Having  made  up  my  mind,  I  have  ceased  to  wonder 
if  I  shall  like  it.  That  is  now  beside  the  question.  I  shall 
drop  my  title  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  hope  that  I  shall 
pass  undiscovered  as  John  Gwynne.  In  short,  I  shall  be 
gin  life  all  over  again — as  if  \  were  a  criminal  in  disguise 
instead  of  the  sport  of  circumstances.  I  have  ceased  to 
regret  the  inevitable  and  begun  to  be  stimulated  by  the 
thought  of  a  struggle  to  which  all  that  I  have  had  here  was 
a  mere  game,  and  I  am  sure  that  you,  with  your  brains  and 
energy,  will  enjoy  the  fight  as  much  as  I.  I  am  not  going 
into  the  wilderness.  We  shall  be  only  two  hours  from 
San  Francisco,  which  I  am  told  is  the  only  city  in  America 
that  in  the  least  suggests  Europe;  it  should  be  very  at 
tractive.  On  the  ranch  you  shall  have  every  comfort  and 
luxury.  You  must  be  sick  of  London,  anyhow.  You 
have  conquered  everything  here." 

He  paused  and  regarded  her  in  some  trepidation.  In 
spite  of  his  self-confidence  he  had  had  his  moments  of 
doubt.  And  although  he  had  anticipated  tears  and  re 
monstrance,  he  was  unprepared  for  the  more  subtle  weapon 
of  amusement,  flickering  through  absolute  calm.  He 
suddenly  wished  that  she  were  younger.  He  had  never 
given  a  thought  to  her  age  before,  but  he  remembered  that 

162 


ANCESTORS 

she  had  lived  for  two  years  longer  than  himself,  and  it 
made  him  feel  even  less  than  thirty. 

"My  dear  boy/'  she  said,  wonderingly,  "I  never  heard 
anything  so  romantic  and  impossible.  Of  course  it  is 
the  American  cousin  with  whom  you  have  been  shut  up 
all  these  weeks  that  has  been  putting  such  preposterous 
ideas  into  your  head.  I  always  said  that  nature  just 
missed  making  you  a  poet.  But  if  you  wish  to  work  out 
your  manifest  destiny — to  be  immortalized  in  history — 
you  will  remind  yourself  that  England  is  the  one  place  on 
earth  where  an  Anglo-Saxon  can  cut  a  really  great  figure. 
Not  only  because  he  has  the  proper  background  of  tradi 
tions,  but  because  he  has  an  audience  trained  to  recognize 
a  man's  greatness  during  his  lifetime.  If  you  go  in  for 
those  unspeakable  American  politics  you  will  never  be 
given  credit  for  anything  higher  than  your  medium;  in 
other  words,  should  you  develop  into  a  statesman  on 
American  lines  you  would  never  be  recognized  for  anything 
but  a  successful  politician.  Even  if  you  survived  in  their 
hurly-burly  of  history,  you  would  be  judged  by  contem 
porary  standards — infused  with  a  certain  contempt  be 
cause  you  were  not  American-born." 

"I  have  thought  it  all  out.  The  obstacles  to  greatness, 
even  more  than  to  success,  have  whetted  my  appetite  for 
the  struggle.  I  must  fight!  fight!  fight!  I  must  exercise 
my  powers  of  usefulness  to  some  good  end,  and  now,  now, 
when  I  am  young  and  ardent.  I  should  go  mad  sitting 
round  doing  nothing.  I  have  no  temper  for  attacking  the 
passive  resistance  of  inertia.  I  want  to  fight  out  in  the 
open.  If  I  fail  I  will  take  my  beating  like  a  man.  But  I 
have  not  the  least  intention  of  failing.  I  am  acutely  aware 
of  the  powers  within  me,  and  I  can  use  them  anywhere." 


ANCESTORS 

"Then  why  not  in  the  Upper  House  ?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"For  the  reasons  I  have  given  you,  and  because  I  should 
fear  the  results  on  my  character.  You  know  what  it 
means  to  be  a  peer  of  Great  Britain.  Flattery  without 
accomplishment  is  demoralizing — would  be  to  me,  at  all 
events.  It  is  wine  to  me  when  I  am  achieving,  but  it  would 
drug  me  in  idleness.  Are  you  so  wedded  to  London  ?" 

"  London  is  the  raison  d'etre  of  life.  Has  it  occurred 
to  you,"  she  asked,  gently,  "that  I  might  refuse  to  go  to 
America  ?" 

"I  was  afraid  the  idea  would  be  something  of  a  shock, 
but  I  was  sure  you  would  see  the  matter  in  my  light." 

"It  is  not  wanting  in  power!  But  it  seems  that  I  am. 
I  have  never  aspired  to  the  role  of  Amelia  Sedley.  I  have, 
in  fact,  rather  a  pronounced  individuality;  and  yet  you 
have  taken  upon  yourself  to  dispose  of  my  future  as  if  I 
were  a  slip  of  eighteen — delighted  at  the  prospect  of  a 
husband." 

"Indeed  you  are  wrong!"  he  cried,  distressed  to  have 
bruised  so  beloved  an  ego.  "  But,  I  repeat,  it  was  a  ques 
tion  I  was  forced  to  decide  alone.  Nor  would  it  have  been 
fair  to  ask  you  to  assume  any  part  of  so  great  a  responsibil 
ity.  Do  you  suppose  I  did  not  think  of  that  ?  Do  you 
suppose  I  have  ever  lost  sight  of  your  happiness  ?  Let  me 
think  for  both  and  you  shall  not  regret  it." 

She  could  have  smiled  outright  at  this  evidence  of  the 
ingenuousness  of  man,  but  her  breast  was  raging  with  a 
fury  of  disappointment  and  consternation.  She  kept  her 
eyes  down  lest  they  should  betray  her.  But  suddenly  she 
had  an  inspiration.  She  controlled  herself  with  a  masterly 
effort,  flooded  her  eyes  with  tenderness,  raised  them,  and 
said,  softly: 

164 


A       N       C       E       S       TORS 

"1  do  love  London,  love  it  with  what  I  called  a  passion 
before  I — before  we  met.  And  I  cannot  believe  that  this 
extraordinary  resolution  of  yours  has  had  time  to  mature. 
Promise  me  at  least  that  you  will  not  apply  for  letters  of 
citizenship  for  at  least  a  year  after  your  arrival — 

"I  shall  apply  the  day  after  I  arrive  in  Rosewater." 
He  steeled  himself,  for  he  had  had  his  experience  of  wom 
an's  wiles;  and  his  faith  in  masculine  supremacy  as  a 
habit  did  not  waver.  "I  only  regret  that  the  time  of 
probation  must  be  so  long.  I  am  on  fire  to  throw  myself 
into  the  arena — however,  there  will  be  opportunities  to 
make  myself  known  and  felt.  I  have  decided  to  study 
law  meanwhile — and  the  law,  it  seems,  is  a  career  in  itself 
in  America." 

And  then  he  watched  her  eyes,  fascinated.  They  slowly 
hardened,  until,  with  the  sun  slanting  into  them,  they 
looked  like  bronze.  She  was  too  intent  upon  studying  his 
own  to  hide  them,  and  upon  arriving  at  a  final  conclusion. 
She  reached  it  in  a  moment,  for  to  her  habit  of  rapid 
thought  and  her  understanding  of  the  workings  of  the 
masculine  mind  she  owed  no  little  of  her  supremacy 
among  the  clever  women  of  London. 

"I  see  that  your  decision  is  irrevocable,"  she  said. 
''You  are  yourself;  no  one  could  make  or  unmake  you, 
and  God  forbid  that  I  should  try.  But — and  I  forbear  to 
lead  up  to  it  artistically — I  dissever  myself  from  your 
chariot  wheels.  I  am  not  afraid  of  being  crushed,  for  no 
doubt  you  would  always  remember  to  be  polite,  if  not  con 
siderate.  I  am  not  sure  that  you  would  even  permit  me 
to  become  unrecognizable  with  dust.  But  I  am  no  longer 
plastic.  I  am  thirty-two,  and  I  am  as  much  I  as  you  are 
you.  I  shall  watch  you  from  afar  with  great  interest,  and 


ANCESTORS 

I  sincerely  hope,  for  both  your  sakes,  that  Miss  Otis  will 
succeed  in  marrying  you.  I  cannot  fancy  anything  more 
suitable." 

He  had  turned  white,  but  he  looked  at  her  steadily.  He 
felt  as  if  the  round  globe  were  slipping  from  under  him;  and 
vaguely  wondered  if  she  had  gone  about  alluding  to  him  as 
"the  marquess."  Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  lifted  her 
forcibly  from  her  chair,  deposited  her  on  the  sofa,  and 
taking  her  in  his  arms  defied  her  to  dismiss  him,  to  live 
without  him.  As  the  body,  so  yielding  before,  declined 
even  to  become  rigid  in  resistance,  he  poured  out  such  a 
flood  of  pleading  that,  believing  passion  had  conquered 
reason,  she  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  offered  to 
marry  him  on  the  morrow  if  he  would  promise  to  remain 
in  England.  But  there  was  a  crystal  quality  in  Gwynne's 
intellect  that  no  passion  could  obscure.  He  merely  re 
newed  his  pleadings;  and  then  she  slipped  out  of  his  em 
brace  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"We  are  wasting  time,"  she  said.  "I  always  drive 
before  dinner,  and  I  cannot  go  out  in  a  tea-gown."  She 
paused  a  moment  to  summon  from  her  resources  the  words 
that  would  humiliate  him  most  and  slake  the  desire  for 
vengeance  that  shrieked  within  her.  She  had  never  hated 
any  one  so  bitterly  before,  not  even  in  her  youth,  when 
snubs  were  frequent.  For  the  third  time  she  watched  a 
coronet  slip  through  her  strong  determined  impotent  fin 
gers.  She  could  forgive  her  husband  and  Brathland  their 
untimely  deaths,  but  for  this  young  man,  passionately  in 
love  with  her,  who  tossed  the  dazzling  prize  aside  as  an 
actor  might  a  "property  crown,"  she  felt  such  a  rage  of 
hatred  that  for  almost  a  moment  she  thought  of  giving  her 
inherited  self  the  exquisite  satisfaction  of  scratching  his 

1 66 


A       NCESTORS 

eyes  out.  But  it  was  too  late  in  her  day  to  be  wholly 
natural,  and,  indeed,  she  preferred  the  weapons  the  world 
and  her  ambitions  had  given  her.  As  he  rose  and  stared 
at  her  doubtingly,  she  said,  without  a  high  or  a  sharp  note, 
in  her  clear  lisping  voice: 

"I  think  it  wise  to  put  an  end  to  all  this  by  telling  you 
that  I  was  engaged  to  Lord  Brathland  when  he  died.  I 
was  more  in  love  with  him  than  I  ever  shall  be  with  any 
one  again.  You  caught  me  in  the  violence  of  the  rebound, 
for  I  was  confused  with  grief,  and  distraction  was  welcome: 
you  are  always  sufficiently  amusing.  I  have  not  the  least 
idea  it  would  ever  have  come  off,  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
my  friend,  you  are  too  hopelessly  the  enfant  gate  for  a  wom 
an  who  is  neither  young  enough  nor  old  enough  to  crave 
youth  on  any  terms.  As  a  husband,  I  fear,  not  to  put  too 
fine  a  point  on  it,  you  would  be  a  bore.  At  the  risk  of 
being  thought  a  snob — to  which  I  am  quite  indifferent — I 
will  add  that  as  plain  John  Gwynne  you  seem  to  have  so 
shrunk  in  size  as  to  have  become  as  insignificant  as  most 
men  are,  no  doubt,  when  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  their  un 
manufactured  side.  However  "• — with  the  air  of  a  great 
lady  dismissing  an  object  of  patronage — "I  wish  you  good- 
fortune,  and  sincerely  hope  that  we  shall  one  day  read  of 
John  Gwynne,  senator,  and  recall  for  a  moment  the  brill 
iant  Elton  Gwynne  so  long  forgotten  in  this  busy  London 
of  ours." 

During  quite  half  of  her  discourse  Gwynne  had  felt 
his  soul  writhe  under  a  rain  of  hot  metal,  gibber  towards 
some  abyss  where  it  could  hide  its  humiliation  and  its  scars 
for  ever.  His  brain  seemed  vacant  and  his  very  nostrils 
turned  white.  But  like  many  clever  people  goaded  to 
words  by  a  furious  sense  of  failure,  she  overshot  her  mark, 


ANCESTORS 

and  before  she  finished  his  pride  had  made  a  terrified  re 
bound  and  taken  complete  possession  of  him.  He  still 
felt  stripped,  lashed,  a  presumptuous  youth  before  a  scorn 
ful  woman  in  the  ripeness  of  her  maturity,  but  it  was  im 
perative  for  his  future  self-respect  that  he  should  reassert 
his  manhood  and  retire  in  good  order.  He  let  her  finish, 
and  then,  as  she  stood  with  a  still  impatience,  he  lifted  his 
eyes  and  drew  himself  up.  His  face  was  devoid  of  ex 
pression.  His  eyes  did  not  even  glitter;  he  might  have 
been  listening  with  voluntary  politeness  to  the  speech  of 
majesty  laying  a  corner-stone. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  said.  "You  have  given  me 
the  drubbing  I  deserve,  and  I  am  grateful  to  you.  It  was 
the  only  thing  I  needed  to  snap  my  last  tie  with  England 
and  brace  me  for  the  struggle  in  America.  It  emboldens 
me  to  ask  another  favor — that  you  will  regard  what  I  have 
told  you  of  my  plans  as  confidential.  I  shall  give  out  that 
I  am  going  to  travel  for  a  time.  As  I  believe  I  mentioned, 
I  dc  not  wish  to  be  recognized  in  the  United  States;  and 
that  by  the  time  I  have  made  my  new  name  my  old  one 
will  be  forgotten,  is  one  of  the  sure  points  upon  which  I 
have  reckoned.  Have  I  your  promise  ?" 

"My  oath!"  she  said,  flippantly;  and  although  she  was 
not  generous  enough  to  admire,  and  still  felt  as  if  the  world 
itself  were  a  corpse,  every  inherited  instinct  in  her  united 
in  a  visible  respect  for  a  poise  that  was  a  gift  of  the  cen 
turies,  not  a  deftly  manufactured  mask. 

She  rang  the  bell  and  extended  her  hand.  Gwynne 
shook  it  politely;  and  a  moment  later  was  walking  down 
Park  Lane  in  that  singular  state  of  elation  that  in  mer 
curial  natures  succeeds  one  of  the  brutal  blows  of  life, 
when  all  the  forces  of  the  spirit  have  leaped  to  the  rescue. 

168 


PART    II 
1905 


I 


FOR  Isabel  Otis  the  genius  loci  had  a  more  powerful 
and  enduring  magnetism  than  any  man  or  woman 
she  had  ever  known.  She  had  felt  the  consolation  of  it, 
although  without  analysis,  in  her  lonely  girlhood  by  the 
great  Rosewater  Marsh;  definitely  in  Tyrol,  Perugia, 
Toledo,  in  Munich  where  she  had  lingered  too  long,  in  a 
hundred  tiny  high-perched  and  low-set  villages  of  Austria 
and  Italy  of  which  the  tourist  had  never  heard,  at  Konigsee 
and  Pragsenvildsee;  and  deeply  in  England.  But  no  place 
had  ever  called  her,  disturbed  her,  excited  her  into  furious 
criticism,  mockingly  maintained  its  hold  upon  the  very 
roots  of  her  being,  like  the  city  of  her  birth.  Her  child 
hood's  memories  of  it  clustered  about  the  old  house  on 
Russian  Hill  where  the  most  cordial  neighbors  were  goats; 
the  beach  by  the  Cliff  House  on  a  stormy  day;  long  rides 
up  and  down  the  almost  perpendicular  hills  of  the  city  in 
the  swift  cable  cars;  and  certain  candy  stores  on  Polk  and 
Kearney  streets.  At  long  intervals  there  was  a  children's 
party  at  one  of  the  fine  houses  on  the  ledge  below  her  home; 
or  out  in  the  Western  Addition,  where  an  always  migratory 
people  were  rivalling  the  splendors  of  Nob  Hill — as  that 
craggy  height  had  long  since  humbled  South  Park  and 
Rincon  Hill  into  their  abundant  dust.  She  also  cherished 
many  charming  memories  of  her  mother,  with  dinner  or 
ball-gown  so  prudently  looped  under  her  rain-coat  that  it 
u  171 


ANCESTORS 

gave  her  slender  figure  the  proportions  of  the  old-fashioned 
hoop-skirt;  always  laughing  as  she  kissed  the  little  girls 
good-night  before  braving  the  two  flights  of  steps  to  the 
carriage  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff.  Two  years  before  her 
death  Mrs.  Otis  was  glad  to  bury  her  mortification  and 
misery  in  Rosewater.  After  that  Isabel  had  never  so 
much  as  a  glimpse  of  San  Francisco  until  she  was  sixteen, 
when  her  father  was  induced  to  visit  his  adopted  daughter 
and  take  his  youngest  martyr  with  him.  Isabel  had  plan 
ned  for  this  visit  throughout  six  long  months,  and  arrived 
in  the  city  of  her  heart  radiant  in  a  frock  every  breadth  of 
which  was  new — heretofore  her  wardrobe  had  risen  like 
an  apologetic  phoenix  from  the  moth-eaten  remnants  of  her 
mother's  old  finery — and  such  uncompromising  trust  in  the 
benevolence  of  fate  as  a  girl  rarely  knows  twice  in  a  life 
time.  There  were  three  days  of  enchanted  prowling  about 
the  old  house  on  Russian  Hill,  where,  as  the  tenant,  in 
the  rocking-chair  by  the  bedroom  window,  did  not  invite 
her  to  enter,  she  consoled  herself  with  the  views  and  the 
memories;  and  of  an  even  more  normal  delight  in  the 
shopping  streets  and  gay  restaurants  of  a  real  city.  After 
that  the  visit  existed  in  her  mind  with  the  confused  out 
lines  of  a  nightmare. 

Her  adopted  sister's  peevish  complaints  at  being  obliged 
to  remain  in  the  foggy  windy  city  all  summer,  the  crying 
baby,  the  whirlwinds  of  dust  and  shivering  nights,  she 
might  have  dismissed  as  unworthy  the  spirit  of  sixteen, 
and  dreamed  herself  happy.  But  Mr.  Otis,  who  had  been 
sober  for  seven  months,  selected  this  occasion  for  a  fall 
which  resounded  from  Market  Street  to  Telegraph  Hill, 
and  rejuvenated  the  long  line  of  saloons  that  had  graced 
Montgomery  Street  since  the  days  when  "Jim"  Otis  had 

172 


ANCESTORS 

been  one  of  the  wildest  spirits  in  the  wildest  city  on  earth. 
That  was  "back  in  the  Sixties,"  when  his  lapses  were  as 
far  apart  as  they  were  unrivalled  in  consumption,  span, 
and  pyrotechny.  By  the  late  Eighties  he  had  disappeared 
into  the  north,  and  the  careless  city  knew  him  no  more. 

During  the  Seventies  and  early  Eighties  there  had  been 
a  period  of  reform,  incident  upon  his  marriage  with  a  pretty 
and  high-spirited  girl,  and  one  of  the  city's  estimable  at 
tempts  to  clean  out  its  political  stables.  His  brilliant  and 
desperate  encounter  with  Boss  Buckley  was  historic,  but 
its  failure,  and  the  indifference  of  the  gay  contented 
majority  to  the  city's  underworld,  soured  him  and  struck 
a  fatal  blow  at  the  never  vital  roots  of  personal  ambition. 
When  he  began  to  water  the  roots  at  his  old  haunts,  the 
finish  of  his  career  and  of  his  splendid  inheritance  passed 
into  the  region  of  problems  that  Time  solves  so  easily. 
When  she  solved  his  problem  he  was  glad  to  subside  into 
one  of  his  cottages  in  Rosewater.  Here  he  reformed  and 
collapsed,  reformed  and  collapsed;  but,  with  fewer  tempta 
tions,  and  a  remnant  of  his  legal  brilliancy,  he  supported 
his  family  after  a  fashion;  and  fed  his  pride  to  the  day  of 
his  death  with  the  fact  that  his  wife,  unlike  the  forgotten 
half  of  many  another  comet,  had  never  been  obliged  to  do 
her  own  work. 

During  that  last  visit  to  San  Francisco,  Isabel,  guided 
by  her  amused  brother-in-law,  routed  him  out  of  no  less 
than  fourteen  saloons,  and  spent  night  after  night  walking 
the  streets  with  him  to  conquer  the  restlessness  that  other 
wise  would  find  a  prolonged  surcease  beyond  her  influence. 
When  she  finally  steered  him  back  to  Rosewater  he  fell 
into  an  exuberant  fit  of  repentance,  during  which  he  was  so 
charming  and  so  legal  that  Isabel  forgave  him,  laid  by  her 

173 


A      N      C       E       S       T       0       R       S 

bitterness  and  mortification,  and  hoped.  But  although 
no  repentance  could  maintain  a  grip  upon  that  slippery 
flabby  substance  which  he  still  called  his  character,  at 
least  he  never  went  to  San  Francisco  again.  Occasionally 
he  permitted  Isabel  to  spend  a  week  with  her  sister,  while 
he  pledged  himself  to  good  hehavior  during  her  absence; 
and  kept  his  word.  He  always  kept  his  word;  and  he  took 
care  to  withhold  it  except  when  he  was  sure  of  himself. 
Isabel  decided  that  as  everything  was  relative  it  was  better 
to  have  a  dipsomaniac  as  her  life  portion  than  a  drinking- 
machine  of  more  steady  and  industrious  habits. 

Finally  his  patient  clients  left  him,  he  sold  the  cottage 
in  Rosewater — all  that  remained  of  his  inheritance — to 
pay  its  mortgages,  and  moved  with  Isabel  out  to  the  ranch- 
house,  preserved  with  a  few  hundred  acres  by  the  more 
canny  and  less  thirsty  Hiram.  When  the  elder  brother 
died  James  would  have  returned  forthwith  to  the  sources 
of  supply,  but  by  this  time  Isabel  had  the  upper  hand, 
and  although  he  disappeared  for  days  at  a  time,  he  was 
always  forced  to  return  to  the  ranch  when  the  small  month 
ly  sum  allowed  him  by  the  terms  of  his  brother's  will  was 
exhausted;  no  one  in  Rosewater  would  give  him  credit. 
As  he  invariably  left  a  note  behind  him  promising  to  "be 
quiet  about  it,"  Isabel  ceased  to  haunt  his  footsteps.  His 
appetite  was  far  beyond  his  control  or  hers,  and  as  he  kept 
his  word  and  spent  his  time  in  the  back  parlor  of  a  saloon, 
and  had  no  longer  the  digestive  capacity  to  achieve  his 
former  distinction,  she  merely  sat  at  home  and  waited. 
Fortunately  he  did  not  live  long  enough  after  his  brother 
hopelessly  to  embitter  his  daughter's  youth.  Liberty 
came  to  her  when  she  had  ceased  to  hate  with  young 
intolerance  and  begun  to  pity;  and  before  too  much 

'74 


ANCESTORS 

longing  for  freedom,  and  its  insidious  suggestions,  had 
poisoned  her  nature.  Indeed,  when  she  had  seen  her 
father  buried  with  much  pomp  in  the  cemetery  behind 
Rosewater,  and  returned  to  the  permanent  peace  of  her 
home,  she  missed  her  cares  and  responsibilities,  so  long 
and  systematically  borne,  and  mourned,  not  as  a  child  for 
its  parent,  but  as  an  adoptive  mother  suddenly  bereft. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  bent  upon  enjoying  her  freedom 
to  the  utmost  and  rebelled  against  the  obduracy  of  her 
uncle's  executors,  who  disapproved  of  her  pilgrimage  to 
Europe  unattended  by  a  matron  of  Rosewater.  Hiram 
Otis,  who  trusted  no  man,  had  appointed  four  executors; 
and  had  not  Judge  Leslie  been  one  of  them  the  other 
three  might  have  delayed  the  settling  of  the  estate  beyond 
the  legal  term.  But  at  the  end  of  a  year  Isabel  was  ab 
solute  mistress  of  her  property  and  herself. 

One  of  the  happiest  moments  of  her  life  was  when  she 
sat  before  her  lawyer's  table  in  San  Francisco  and  watched 
the  pen  strokes  that  cancelled  the  mortgage  of  the  house  on 
Russian  Hill.  The  house  and  its  acre,  encumbered  by  the 
inevitable  mortgage,  had  been  all  that  remained  of  Mrs. 
Otis's  personal  inheritance  when  she  left  San  Francisco 
for  ever.  James  Otis  had  promised  his  dying  wife  that  he 
would  never  sell  the  place,  which  she  bequeathed  to  Isabel; 
and  when  his  last  client  left  him  and  he  could  no  longer 
pay  the  interest,  Hiram,  who  was  morosely  devoted  to  his 
niece,  met  the  yearly  obligation:  he  would  not  redeem  the 
mortgage  unless  he  were  permitted  to  buy  the  property. 
But  to  this  James  Otis,  clinging  to  his  solitary  virtue, 
would  not  consent;  and  Hiram,  although  he  intended  to 
leave  all  he  possessed  to  Isabel,  could  not  bring  himself  to 
part  with  any  sum  in  four  figures. 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

Before  leaving  for  Europe  Isabel  had  leased  the  house  to 
a  young  newspaper  man  whose  wife  had  an  income  of  her 
own,  and  not  only  an  artistic  appreciation  of  the  view, 
but  a  more  practical  esteem  for  a  site  so  far  removed  from 
the  "all-night  life"  below.  Immediately  after  Isabel's 
return  Mrs.  Glait  had  asked  permission  to  sublet  the 
house,  remarking  cynically  that  time  had  inured  her  to 
the  desultory  phenomena  of  journalism,  but  never  to  the 
stable  prospect  of  her  husband's  death  struggle  with  foot 
pads,  or  her  children  falling  down  the  cliff  of  this  wild  bit 
of  nature  in  the  heart  of  a  city. 

Isabel  took  back  her  old  home  with  another  spasm  of 
delight,  and  vowed  that  not  until  she  was  a  pauper  would 
she  part  with  it  again.  Five  or  six  days  of  every  week 
must  be  spent  on  the  chicken-ranch,  which  had  grown  to 
such  proportions  that  she  was  now  one  of  the  persons  that 
counted  in  her  flourishing  community.  But  in  time  she 
would  live  more  and  more  in  her  lofty  home,  become  a 
notable  figure  in  San  Francisco,  drawing  with  both  hands 
from  its  varied  best;  and  meanwhile,  once  a  week,  she 
could  sit  for  hours  and  look  down  upon  the  city,  which, 
even  in  rainy  weather,  was  a  wild  and  beautiful  sight  from 
her  eyrie. 

Mrs.  Otis  had  been  a  niece  of  the  Mrs.  Montgomery  who 
had  reigned  on  Rincon  Hill  twenty  years  ago,  and  a  cousin 
of  the  Helena  Belmont  who  had  been  the  greatest  belle  the 
city  had  seen  since  that  earlier  time  when  Nina  Randolph, 
Guadalupe  Hathaway,  Mrs.  Hunt  McLane,  and  "The 
Three  Macs  "  had  made  history  for  themselves  in  spite  of 
the  momentous  era  of  which  they  were  so  unheeding  a 
part.  Mary  Belmont  would  have  been  no  mean  heiress 
herself  had  not  her  father  been  too  adventurous  a  spirit 


ANCESTORS 

on  the  stock-market  during  the  Belcher  Bonanza  excite 
ment  of  1872.  For  a  time  it  looked  as  if  Gordon  Belmorit 
would  be  a  far  richer  man  than  his  famous  brother, 
Colonel  Jack,  always  contented  with  a  modest  million; 
but  in  ten  mad  days  there  was  a  decline  of  sixty  million 
dollars  in  the  aggregate  value  of  stocks  on  the  San  Francisco 
market;  and  six  months  later,  when  he  died  of  sheer  ex 
haustion,  he  had  nothing  to  leave  his  only  child  but  the 
house  on  Russian  Hill,  and  a  small  income  generously  sup 
plemented  by  her  uncle  and  guardian  until  her  marriage. 
She  was  thirteen  at  her  father's  death,  and  as  her  mother 
had  preceded  him,  she  spent  the  following  five  years  in  a 
New  York  boarding-school.  Then  she  returned  home, 
and,  after  a  year's  gayety,  married  James  Otis.  Colonel 
Belmont  surrendered  her  small  property.  Skilfully 
"turned  over"  it  would  have  multiplied  indefinitely. 
But  James  Otis  and  his  wife  knew  far  more  about  spend 
ing  money  than  making  it,  and  to-day  nothing  was  left  to 
commemorate  the  meteoric  and  eminently  typical  career 
of  Gordon  Belmont  but  the  ancient  structure  whose 
nucleus  he  had  taken  over  just  after  his  marriage  as  a 
"bad  debt."  His  wife,  too,  had  insisted  upon  living  in 
it,  for  reasons  subsequently  understood  by  her  daughter 
and  Mrs.  Glait,  and  complacently  enlarged  it  with  all  the 
hideous  improvements  of  the  day. 

That  part  of  Russian  Hill  conspicuous  from  the  city  is 
little  more  than  a  great  clifF  rising  abruptly  from  the  ex 
treme  north  end  of  the  graded  ledge  on  the  summit  of 
Nob  Hill,  which,  in  its  turn,  almost  overhangs  the  steep 
and  populous  ascent  from  the  valley.  In  "early  days" 
none  but  the  goat  could  cling  to  those  rough  hills  that  all 
but  stood  on  end,  and  the  brush  was  so  thick  and  the 

177 


ANCESTORS 

titles  so  uncertain  that  their  future  distinction  was  un 
dreamed  of.  Then  came  a  determined  period  of  grading 
which  embraced  the  heights  in  due  course,  titles  were 
settled,  and  many  that  foresaw  the  ultimate  possession  of 
that  great  valley  now  known  as  "South  of  Market  Street" 
—but  which  in  its  haughty  youth  embraced  South  Park 
and  Rincon  Hill — by  the  tenacious  sons  of  Erin  and 
Germania,  moved  to  the  uplands  while  lots  could  still  be 
bought  for  a  song.  The  Jack  Belmonts,  the  Yorbas,  the 
Polks,  and  others  of  the  first  aristocracy  to  follow  the 
Spanish,  made  Nob  Hill  fashionable  before  a  new  class  of 
millionaires  sprang  up  in  a  night,  and  indulged  its  fresh 
young  fancy  with  monstrous  wooden  structures  holding  a 
large  portion  of  converted  capital.  Mrs.  Yorba,  who  led 
society  in  the  Eighties,  when  it  was  as  exclusive  as  a 
small  German  principality,  was  disposed  to  snub  all 
parvenus.  But  the  young  people  made  their  way.  When 
Mary  Belmont  returned  from  school,  and,  chaperoned  by 
a  widowed  relative,  gave  at  least  a  dance  a  month  until  she 
married,  and  many  a  one  after,  the  heirs  of  all  grades 
thought  nothing  of  leaving  their  carnages  at  the  foot  of 
the  cliff  to  climb  the  precarious  stair;  groping  blindly  more 
often  than  not  through  the  rains  of  winter  or  the  fogs  of 
summer.  To  -  day  Isabel's  neighbors  wisely  made  no 
such  demands  upon  the  pampered,  but  in  that  incom 
parably  older  time  the  young  people  would  have  climbed 
to  the  stars  for  the  sake  of  the  lavish  hospitality  of  the 
gay  indulgent  young  hostess;  and  if  some  of  the  youths 
rolled  down  the  hill  when  the  lights  went  out,  that  was 
hardly  a  matter  to  excite  indignant  comment  in  a  city 
where  drink  was  so  admittedly  the  curse  that  it  was 
philosophically  accepted  with  such  other  standing  evils 


ANCESTORS 

as  fogs,  trade-winds,  small-pox,  mud-holes,  dust-storms, 
and  unmentionable  politics. 

When  Mary  Belmont  became  the  wife  of  James  Otis, 
one  of  the  greatest  ranchers  in  California — in  which  State, 
unlike  other  fervent  patriots  of  that  era,  he  had  been  born 
— and  a  brilliant  figure  in  one  of  the  most  notable  legal 
groups  of  any  time,  she  long  held  her  position  as  a  social 
favorite.  But  children  came  and  died  too  quickly  for  her 
health  and  fragile  beauty,  and  the  storms  of  life  beset  her. 
She  continued  to  live  in  her  inconvenient  eyrie,  not  only 
in  the  waning  hope  of  ultimately  separating  her  husband 
from  the  convivial  beings  on  the  lower  plain,  but  because 
she  felt  an  intense  pride  in  owning  a  home  two  generations 
old  in  that  young  community.  She  was  determined  that 
it  should  remain  in  the  family  and  be  occupied  by  at  least 
one  of  her  children.  So  the  ugly  brown  wooden  structure 
with  its  bay-windows,  its  central  tower,  its  Mansard-roof— 
added  for  the  servants — had,  contrary  to  all  tradition, 
actually  joined  three  generations  of  San  Franciscans  in 
one  unbroken  chain.  It  owed  its  proud  position,  no  doubt, 
to  the  fact  that  when  the  Otis  fortunes  collapsed  there  was 
but  one  child  left  to  inherit  it  and  to  be  supported  mean 
while. 

Isabel  intended  in  time  to  give  the  house  a  new  facade, 
and  had  gloated  over  such  of  the  Burnham  plans  as  had 
been  reproduced  by  the  city  press.  These  lovely  plans 
were  designed  to  make  the  city  as  classic  and  imposing  as 
Nature  had  dreamed  of  when  she  piled  up  that  rugged  am 
phitheatre  out  of  chaos;  and  Isabel  had  long  since  resolved 
that,  if  she  could  not  be  the  first  to  plant  a  bit  of  ancient 
Athens  upon  a  brown  and  ragged  bluff,  the  high  tide  of  her 
fortunes  should  coincide  with  the  awakening  of  the  city 

179 


ANCESTORS 

to  the  sense  of  its  architectural  guilt.  She  banished  much 
of  the  tasteless  furniture  of  the  old  time,  and  refitted  with 
a  stately  comfort  that  expressed  one  side  of  her  nature. 
She  too  clung  to  traditions — and  to  the  long  mirrors  in 
their  tarnished  gilt  frames,  with  the  little  shelf  below; 
the  multitude  of  family  portraits  engraved  on  wood,  and 
surrounded  by  a  wide  white  margin  and  tiny  gilt  frame. 
That  they  might  strike  no  discordant  note,  she  made  use 
of  a  lesson  learned  in  London,  where  she  had  spent  a 
month  with  Lady  Victoria,  and  had  the  walls  and  wood 
of  the  living-room  painted  white,  covered  the  windows 
and  furniture  with  a  plain  stuff  of  a  dark  but  neutral  blue. 
In  the  dining-room  were  a  few  paintings  of  her  New 
England  and  Spanish  ancestors,  and  she  disturbed  them 
only  to  replace  the  wall-paper  with  leather;  at  the  same 
time  sending  the  black  walnut  furniture  to  the  auction- 
room. 

Being  the  one  practical  member  of  her  family,  and  the 
product  of  an  earthquake  country,  she  repaired  the  un 
certain  foundations  of  her  house  before  removing  the  walls 
that  had  cut  up  the  lower  floor  into  the  conventional  num 
ber  of  rooms  and  hallways.  The  house,  of  no  great 
depth,  was  so  close  to  the  hill-side,  still  rising  above  it, 
that  more  than  one  enterprising  cook  had  made  use  of  the 
natural  ledges  before  the  windows.  Besides  the  kitchen 
department  and  pantries,  there  were  now  but  three  rooms 
on  the  lower  floor:  the  dining-room,  a  small  reception- 
room  in  the  tower,  and  an  immense  living-room,  broken 
by  the  white  pillars  that  supported  the  storys  above. 

Mrs.  Belmont  and  Mrs.  Otis,  in  the  time  -  honored 
American  fashion,  had  made  a  day  nest  of  their  bedroom, 
but  Isabel  was  far  too  modern  for  that  lingering  provincial- 

180 


ANCESTORS 

ism,  and  lived  ^ixuriously  in  the  big  room  down-stairs 
when  she  was  not  in  the  porch.  She  had  reserved  her 
mother's  old  alcoved  bedroom  with  its  mahogany  four- 
poster  for  her  own  use,  but  the  rest  of  the  second-story 
rooms  she  had  fitted  for  her  English  cousins,  that  they  too 
might  have  headquarters  in  town. 

Neither  appeared  to  be  in  any  haste  to  visit  the  city  of 
their  ancestors.  Gwynne  had  left  England  in  October, 
now  nearly  a  year  ago,  but,  having  discovered  from  his 
solicitor  that  he  could  apply  for  letters  of  citizenship  as 
late  as  the  end  of  the  third  year  after  landing,  had  an 
nounced  to  Isabel  his  intention  to  travel  slowly  about  the 
country  "before  settling  down  in  its  remotest  part,  which, 
from  all  accounts,  was  sufficiently  unlike  the  rest  to  pro 
vincialize  his  point  of  view  unless  he  saw  something  first 
of  the  East,  South,  and  Middle  West."  He  had  written 
to  her  several  times,  but  only  on  business.  She  had  re 
turned  in  January,  after  a  round  of  visits  in  England,  and 
had  put  his  house  in  order  at  once.  The  lease  had  ex 
pired,  and  Mr.  Colton  had  engaged  a  temporary  superin 
tendent,  but  Gwynne  sent  Isabel  his  power  of  attorney 
and  she  was  temporarily  in  possession.  She  wrote  to  him 
from  time  to  time  that  all  was  well,  or  to  send  him  an  ac 
count  of  her  expenditures;  but  felt  no  promptings  tow 
ards  a  friendly  correspondence  with  one  who  showed  as 
little  disposition  to  encourage  it. 

From  Victoria  she  had  not  heard  directly  since  she  bade 
her  good-bye  in  Curzon  Street,  but  Flora  Thangue  had 
written  that  her  ladyship's  superb  health  had  (to  her  ill- 
concealed  fury)  given  way,  following  an  attack  of  influenza, 
and  she  would  not  be  able  to  leave  her  doctor  for  an  in 
definite  time.  A  few  months  later  she  wrote  that  "dear 

181 


ANCESTORS 

Vicky"  was  outwardly  herself  again,  bifc  in  reality  very 
nervous,  the  result,  no  doubt,  of  her  illness,  and  of  the 
prolonged  stress  of  business.  However,  she  had  finally 
succeeded  in  letting  the  Abbey  and  Capheaton  to  ad 
vantage,  and  it  was  on  the  cards  that  she  would  reach 
California  before  the  end  of  the  year.  Isabel  hoped  that, 
unfed  by  her  son's  exacting  presence  the  maternal  fires 
burned  low;  she  had  a  clearly  defined  intention  to  be  a 
factor  in  the  new  career  of  Elton  Gwynne,  and  no  desire 
for  the  capricious  interference  of  his  mother. 


II 


AS  Isabel  stood  in  her  little  porch  that  brilliant  Sep- 
i\  tember  morning,  she  dismissed  her  occasional  regret 
that  she  had  not  remained  in  England  for  a  London  season. 
Not  only  had  she  put  the  time  to  better  use  on  her  ranch, 
but  no  doubt  her  agent  would  have  relet  this  house,  and 
delayed  the  fulfilment  of  one  of  those  dreams  upon  which 
she  unconsciously  fed  her  soul.  The  shrieking  trade- 
winds  and  the  dense  white  fogs  were  hibernating  some 
where  out  in  the  Pacific.  All  the  city,  in  the  great  irregular 
amphitheatre  below,  was  sharply  outlined  in  the  yellow 
light;  Isabel  wondered  if  the  sun  renewed  its  stores  from 
the  golden  veins  to  north  and  south.  On  the  wide  broken 
ledge  just  beneath  her  pinnacle  was  the  concrete  evidence 
of  an  architectural  orgy  to  be  seen  nowhere  else  on  earth: 
wooden  mansions  with  the  pure  outlines  of  the  Renaissance; 
a  Gothic  palace  with  bow-windows,  also  of  wood;  a  big 
brown-stone  house  in  the  style  of  New  York;  piles  of 
shingles  and  stones;  here  and  there  a  touch  of  Romanesque, 
later  French,  and  Italian;  the  majority  of  those  plutocratic 
and  perishable  masses,  of  no  style  in  particular,  unless  it 
were  that  of  Mansard  combined  with  the  criminalities  of 
him  who  invented  the  bow-wTindow  and  the  irrelevant 
tower.  On  the  slopes  were  a  few  old  houses  in  gardens, 
some  with  cottage  roofs,  others  square,  brown,  dusty, 
melancholy.  But  the  majority  were  of  the  "house  in  a 

'83 


ANCESTORS 

row"  type,  radiating  in  all  directions  from  the  "boarding- 
house  blocks"  on  the  lower  slopes.  Then,  down  on  the 
plain,  came  the  big  compact  masses  of  stone  and  con 
crete,  brick  and  steel,  devoted  to  business  and  housing  of 
the  itinerant.  The  lofty  domes  of  the  City  Hall  and  a 
newspaper  building,  a  few  church  spires  and  the  great 
white-stone  hotel  on  a  crest  not  far  from  Isabel's,  were  the 
sole  pretenders  to  architectural  beauty  within  her  ken. 

Far  away  she  could  make  out  the  Mission  Church,  once 
called  after  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  now  named  Dolores  for 
the  vanished  lake.  It  was  the  last  reminder  of  the  work 
of  the  Spanish  fathers,  and  looked  indescribably  ancient 
in  the  midst  of  that  busy  and  densely  populated  district. 
At  night  Isabel  watched  the  lights  of  the  electric  cars 
flashing  about  that  old  monument  of  an  almost  forgotten 
conquest — like  the  angry  haunted  eyes  of  the  padres  that 
had  labored  in  the  wilderness  for  naught.  But  although 
this  old  church  and  the  Presidio,  which  still  retained  its 
quadrangle  and  a  few  of  the  original  adobe  houses,  ap 
pealed  deeply  to  Isabel  on  account  of  the  romance  of 
Rezanov  and  Concha  Argiiello  that  distinguished  her  fam 
ily,  her  more  personal  sympathies  were  with  the  streets 
just  below  her  hill-top,  packed  as  they  were  with  memo 
ries,  tragic,  humorous,  gay,  pathetic,  of  a  people  that  had 
made  the  city  great. 

Even  the  dilapidated  houses,  with  their  sixty  steps 
or  more  toppling  above  the  cut  that  had  widened  and 
levelled  the  street,  had  been  very  hospitable  in  their 
time,  and  Isabel  knew  that  her  mother  and  grandmother 
had  toiled  up  those  perpendicular  flights  in  satin  slippers 
and  ballooning  skirts  on  many  a  rainy  night.  Mrs.  Otis 
had  told  her  little  girls  stories  of  all  those  old  houses,  fine 

184 


A       N      C       E       S      TORS 

and  simple,  more  particularly  of  the  fortunate  mansions  on 
Nob  Hill's  brief  level.  Isabel  longed  for  the  time  when  she 
should  enter  them  and  pick  up  the  threads  dropped  from 
her  mother's  nerveless  ringers.  The  Belmont  house  was 
closed,  the  still  restless  Helena  occupying  a  palace  in  Rome 
at  the  moment.  The  Polk  house  had  been  sold  to  the 
energetic  son  of  one  of  the  plodding  old  money-makers 
that  had  fought  shy  of  stock  gambling  and  railroads. 
Nicolas  Hofer  belonged  to  the  latest  type  the  prolific  city 
had  bred:  the  son  of  a  millionaire,  but  a  keen  man  of 
business,  whom  the  wildness  of  the  city  had  never 
tempted,  highly  educated,  honorable,  and  an  ardent 
reformer. 

Magdalena  Yorba — Mrs.  Trennahan — like  most  of  her 
old  neighbors,  still  dwelt  in  the  ancestral  mansion,  al 
though  she  had  given  it  a  stucco  facade  and  shaved  off  the 
bow-windows.  In  each,  Isabel  was  sure  of  welcome,  and 
she  longed  particularly  to  wander  through  the  old  Polk 
house,  where  one  of  her  Spanish  great-aunts  had  reigned 
for  a  time.  Like  all  San  Franciscans  of  family,  she  took 
more  pride  in  her  young-old  city  than  a  Roman  in  his 
Rome.  Its  forty-two  square  miles  had  seen  so  many 
changes,  its  story  was  so  romantic  and  unique,  that  its 
age  was  not  to  be  measured  by  the  standards  of  Time. 
Her  grandfather  had  stood  on  this  hill  after  his  Sunday 
climb  and  looked  over  and  down  a  ragged  wilderness  to 
the  city  bursting  out  of  its  shell — a  wretched  huddle  of 
shacks  and  tents  by  the  water's  edge.  The  bay  no  doubt 
was  crowded  with  ships  from  every  corner  of  the  world, 
many  of  them  deserted,  unmanned,  forced  to  lie  idle  until 
the  return  of  the  hungry  disappointed  gold-seekers.  That 
was  less  than  sixty  years  ago.  In  the  first  ten  years  of  its 


A      N      C       E       S       T O       R       S 

rapid  growth  the  city  had  burned  seven  times,  millions 
blazing  out  in  an  hour. 

To  -  day  San  Francisco  was  replete  not  only  with 
life  but  with  wealth,  talents,  and  every  variety  of 
enterprise;  it  was  as  full  of  fads  and  cults  and  artistic 
groups  as  London  itself;  it  had  sent  forth  authors, 
artists,  mummers,  singers — and  millionaires  by  the  score. 
Many  of  the  art  treasures  of  the  world  had  been  brought 
here  and  hidden  from  the  vulgar  in  those  awful  imper 
manent  "palatial  mansions."  Some  of  the  finest  libraries 
of  the  world  were  here.  It  had  its  bibliomaniacs,  its 
collectors,  its  precieux.  /And  yet  what  a  lonely  city  it  was, 
stranded  on  the  edge  of  the  still  half-vacant  western 
section  of  the  United  States,  with  all  the  Pacific  before  it. 
Save  for  the  rim  of  towns  across  the  bay,  which  were  little 
more  than  a  part  of  itself,  it  watched  the  Orient  alone,  and 
was  far  too  gay  and  careless,  too  self-absorbed  and  insolent, 
to  keep  its  jaws  on  the  alert^  Tact  it  was  much  too  high 
handed  to  cultivate.  It  welcomed  the  hungry  Oriental 
for  so  long  as  he  was  useful,  and  when  he  outstayed  his 
welcome,  incontinently  kicked  him  out.  (San  Francisco's 
intensity  of  independence  as  well  as  of  civic  pride  was  due 
in  part  no  doubt  to  the  isolation  which  compelled  it  to 
be  self-centred,  and  to  its  unconscious  dislike  of  the  elder 
breeds  beyond  the  Rocky  Mountains;  but  largely  to  the 
old  adventurous  reckless  gambling  spirit  and  the  habit 
of  sleeping  on  its  pistol.  These  first  causes  had  developed 
individuality  to  such  proportions  that  the  hair  of  a  Cali- 
fornian  bristled  when  he  was  alluded  to  as  a  "Westerner," 
or  even  as  a  mere  American.^ 

And  with  time  the  patriotism  of  the  San  Fran 
ciscan  waxed  rather  than  waned.  It  wras  no  longer 

1 86 


ANCESTORS 

the  fashion  to  take  one's  money  to  New  York,  merely 
because  of  the  higher  cost  of  living  that  made  a  mill 
ionaire  "feel  his  oats,"  and  of  the  allure  of  the  older 
and  more  difficult  society  to  his  women.  San  Franciscans 
still  fled  from  the  winds  and  fogs  of  summer  to  their  be 
loved  Europe,  and  country-house  life  gained  ground  very 
slowly,  but  deserters  were  few;  and  of  late  the  rich  men 
had  shown  their  faith  not  only  by  investing  the  greater 
part  of  their  capital  in  the  city — until  "improved  real 
estate"  was  become  a  current  phrase — but  the  best  of 
them,  including  Hofer  and  the  mayor  who  had  preceded 
the  present  figurehead  and  his  omnivorous  Boss,  were 
engaged  in  a  desperate  battle  with  the  highly  organized 
gang  of  political  ruffians  that  owned  and  pillaged  and  dis 
honored  the  city  in  a  manner  with  which  nothing  in  the 
history  of  municipal  corruption  could  compare  save  the 
old  Tweed  Ring  of  New  York.  For  at  least  ten  years 
previous  to  1901,  San  Francisco  had  enjoyed  a  period  of 
not  only  decent  but  honorable  government.  There  was 
no  "graft"  in  high  places,  the  city  was  out  of  debt,  it  held 
up  its  head  with  the  cleanest  municipal  governments  in 
the  land.  But,  as  ever,  the  disinterested  grew  somnolent 
with  content,  and  gave  no  heed  to  the  burrowing  of  the 
hungry  recuperated  and  wiser  rats  in  that  prolific  under 
world  whence  never  a  high-minded  citizen  emerges.  The 
few  that  saw  and  warned  were  disregarded;  and  circum 
stances,  proper  in  themselves,  swelled  the  ranks  of  the 
petty  politicians  with  thousands  of  greedy  and  insurgent 
laborers.  San  Francisco  awoke  one  morning  to  find 
herself  in  the  drag-net  of  a  machine  to  which  old  Boss 
Buckley  and  the  illustrious  Tammany  doffed  their  hats. 
But  the  majority  still  gave  little  heed,  too  content  in  their 
13  187 


ANCESTOR    _S 

various  blessings,  and  the  gay  light  spirit  the  climate  gave 
them,  to  foresee  the  time  when  their  pleasant  city  would 
be  utterly  debauched,  and  life  among  arrogant  thieves, 
prostitutes,  and  socialists  have  become  as  impracticable  as 
it  already  was  in  Chinatown  or  on  Barbary  Coast. 

A  group  of  the  more  thoughtful  and  patriotic  citi 
zens,  assisted  by  the  one  militant  editor  the  city  boasted, 
were  doing  all  that  was  humanly  possible  to  prevent  the 
re-election  of  the  mayor,  who  had  already  represented 
the  worst  element  twice,  and  to  break  the  power  of 
the  Boss.  Isabel  in  her  lonely  ranch  house,  when 
her  chickens  were  asleep,  followed  the  fight  with  a 
passionate  interest,  and  was  tempted  to  come  forth  from 
her  seclusion  and  meet  at  least  the  representative  men 
of  her  city.  But  she  was  not  yet  ready  to  take  up  her 
own  share  of  the  burden,  and  was  far  too  modest  to 
imagine  that  she  could  be  useful  until  she  had  become  a 
person  of  importance  in  San  Francisco.  Nevertheless,  as 
she  looked  down  to-day  on  the  sharp  outlines  of  the  city 
under  the  hard  blue  sky,  almost  glittering  in  their  golden 
bath,  she  was  impatient  to  become  a  part  of  its  life,  or  at 
least  to  discuss  its  interests  with  some  one.  Rosewater, 
which  of  late  years  had  become  virtuous  to  excess,  and 
almost  blind  and  deaf  with  local  pride,  took  no  interest  in 
San  Francisco  whatever,  except  as  a  market  for  eggs. 
When  driven  to  the  wall  it  confessed  the  superiority  of  the 
metropolis  in  the  matter  of  shops  and  theatres;  but  its 
politics  it  invariably  dismissed  with  adjectives  more  forcible 
than  elegant. 

It  was  at  this  point  in  Isabel's  meditations  that  her  eye 
happened  to  rove  along  the  plank  walk  to  the  rickety  old 
flight  of  steps  that  led  from  Taylor  Street  up  Russian  Hill, 

188 


A       NCESTORS 

There  was  something  vaguely  familiar  about  a  tall,  thin, 
well-groomed,  but  by  no  means  graceful,  figure  rapidly 
ascending  the  steps.  In  a  moment  her  mind  lost  its 
tensity  of  projection  and  she  was  almost  flying  down  her 
own  long  stair. 

Gwynne  broke  into  a  run  as  he  saw  her.  She  wondered 
if  he  intended  to  kiss  her,  but  he  merely  shook  her  hand 
for  a  full  minute. 

"I  never  in  my  life  was  so  glad  to  see  anybody!"  he 
exclaimed,  with  the  joyousness  of  a  school-boy  come  home 
for  his  first  holiday.  "It  was  such  luck  to  hear  that  you 
were  in  San  Francisco." 

"But  why  didn't  you  telegraph?  In  a  way  I  am  dis 
appointed — glad  as  I  am  to  see  you.  I  intended  to  meet 
you  at  Oakland  and  take  you  directly  up  to  Lumalitas, 
where  everything  was  to  have  been  in  gala  array.  And 
how  did  you  know  I  was  in  town  ?" 

"While  I  was  taking  my  lonely  breakfast  this  morning — 
I  arrived  late  yesterday  afternoon — and  glancing  over  one 
of  your  newspapers,  my  eye  caught  your  name.  I  learned 
that  'the  charming  and  beautiful  young  mistress  of  the 
old  Belmont  House  on  Russian  Hill,  who  had  excited  so 
much  interest  of  late,  had  come  down  as  usual  for  Sunday/* 

"No  ?"  Isabel  flushed  for  the  first  time  within  Gwynne's 
knowledge  of  her.  "That  is  the  very  only  time  I  have 
been  the  subject  of  a  newspaper  paragraph — outside  of 
Rosewater,  which  doesn't  count — and  I  am  as  delighted 
— as  I  have  no  doubt  you  were  the  first  time  you  saw 
your  name  in  print!"  she  added,  defiantly. 

There  was  nothing  cynical  in  Gwynne's  smile.  "I 
understand,"  he  said;  and  then,  as  he  ceased  to  smile, 
the  light  died  out  of  his  face,  and  Isabel  noticed  that  it 

189 


A       N      C       E       S       TORS 

was  older  and  thinner.  It  had  lost  more  than  a  little  of 
its  aloof  serenity,  and  his  crest  was  yisibly  lowered.  But 
on  the  whole  he  was  improved,  for  he  had  cut  his  hair, 
his  lilting  locks  having  been  too  conspicuous  a  feature  in 
the  cartoons  of  Punch  and  Vanity  Fair.  But  there  was 
something  subtly  forlorn  about  him,  and  Isabel's  maternal 
promptings,  once  too  active,  but  long  moribund,  suddenly 
awakened, 

They  mounted  the  steep  flight  of  steps  to  the  house  slow 
ly,  exchanging  ejaculatory  remarks.  When  they  reached 
the  porch  she  motioned  to  a  long  wicker  chair. 

"It  is  only  ten,"  she  said.  "Luncheon  will  not  be 
ready  until  one,  and  my  California  hospitality  demands 
that  your  entertainment  shall  begin  at  once.  Make 
yourself  comfortable  while  I  brew  you  a  cup  of  Spanish 
chocolate.  I  have  actually  one  of  the  molinillos  of  our 
ancestors." 

When  she  returned  with  the  frothy  and  fragrant  bev 
erage  he  was  standing  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  staring 
down  at  the  city.  He  turned  swiftly  at  the  sound  of  her 
step  on  the  wood,  but  something  was  rushing  to  the  back 
of  his  eyes,  and  once  more  Isabel  had  the  singular  im 
pression  of  hearing  his  spirit  cry:  "Oh  God!  Oh  God!" 
But  his  lips  were  hard  pressed  and  his  eyes  became  sud 
denly  contemptuous,  then  smiling. 

"This  is  jolly  of  you,"  he  said.  "I  have  a  weakness 

for  chocolate cultivated  during  the  winter  I  was  in 

Munich  with  my  tutor.  I  never  cared  for  beer — don't 
like  anything  bitter.  Do  you  remember  the  Cafe  Luit- 
poldt,  and  all  those  little  tables  in  the  garden  of  the 
Residenz— " 

He  paused  and  narrowed  his  eyes.  Isabel  had  turned 
190 


ANCESTORS 

white.  "I  must  hear  that  story,"  he  said,  quietly.  "You 
are  my  only  friend  Out  here.  In  a  way  you  have  altered 
the  whole  course  of  my  life.  I  shall  always  have  a  sense 
of  relationship  with  you  quite  different  from  anything  I 
have  ever  known.  So  there  must  be  perfect  confidence 
and  openness  between  us.  I  told  you  frankly  the  un 
pleasant  finish  of  my  episode  with  Mrs.  Kaye.  I  hate 
mystery.  I  saw  you  go  white  once  before,  when  I  tried 
to  make  you  talk  about  Munich;  and  the  romantic  Flora 
was  full  of  surmises.  Confession  is  good  for  the  soul, 
anyhow.  I  want  the  atmosphere  cleared  —  not  out  of 
curiosity — I  don't  care  tuppence  about  other  people's 
affairs — but  I  don't  know  you!  I  must  know  you!  I  am 
always  conscious  of  a  wall  about  you — and  in  this  damned 
God-forsaken  country  I  must  have  one  friend!"  he  burst 
out. 

Isabel  had  quite  recovered  herself.  "I  will  tell  you 
everything,  but  not  now.  We  must  be  in  the  mood.  This 
moment  I  am  interested  in  nothing  but  yourself.  Sit 
down.  What  has  happened  to  you  in  all  these  months  ? 
Something  not  altogether  pleasant.  Have  you  had  any 
adventures  ?  Have  you  been  recognized  ?" 

He  had  finished  his  chocolate,  and  he  clasped  his  hands 
behind  his  head  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  giving  the 
railing  a  slight  kick. 

"No,**  he  said,  grimly,  "I  have  not  been  recognized. 
At  first  I  avoided  all  the  big  hotels,  lest  I  might  be;  then 
growing  more  secure,  and  disliking  the  inferior  ones,  I 
became  quite  reckless.  The  second  time  I  visited  New 
York  I  went  to  the  Waldorf-Astoria,  and  the  third  time  to 
the  St.  Regis.  In  the  smoking-rooms  of  all  the  hotels  and 
trains  I  talked  with  any  one  whom  I  found  disposed  to 

191 


A       N       C      E       S       T O_Jt S 

conversation.  Not  that  I  was;  but  I  was  perambulating 
the  country  for  an  object  and  determined  to  accomplish  it. 
As  you  had  told  me  to  improve  my  manners  I  did  my  best, 
and  have  reason  to  believe  that,  if  not  effusive,  I  am  almost 
cynically  approachable.  In  New  York  I  was  at  times  re 
pelled  with  a  haughty  stare  or  a  negative  frigidity  which  no 
duke  I  know  could  compass.  But  in  Boston  they  were 
more  friendly,  and  farther  West  so  expansive  that  I  was 
frequently  invited  to  houses  before  I  had  presented  my 
modest  card.  Very  often  I  had  long  talks  with  newspaper 
men,  and  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  the  fact  that  I  was  a 
Britisher.  Once  or  twice  that  fact  was  commented  on,  but 
taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  There  are  a  good  many 
Britishers  in  the  United  States.  My  identity  was  never 
suspected.  I  never  saw  a  newspaper  paragraph  about 
myself." 

He  laughed,  but  looked  at  her  between  lids  so  narrowed 
that  she  could  not  see  the  expression  of  his  eyes.  She 
nodded,  smiling;  and  she  could  make  her  smile  very  sweet 
and  encouraging. 

"The  time  came  when  I  felt  like  a  shipwrecked  mariner. 
Stranded!  Abandoned!  Forgotten!  Finally — take  all 
the  circumstances  into  consideration  and  make  due  al 
lowance — I  felt  that  I  would  risk  everything  to  see  my 
name  in  print  once  more.  I  arrived  in  Chicago  late  one 
night.  There  had  been  a  break-down  that  doubled  the 
time  of  the  beastly  trip.  I  went  to  its  first  hotel  and  reg 
istered  myself  as  Elton  Gwynne.  The  night  clerk,  with 
the  haughty  indifference  of  the  stage  duke,  or  the  New- 
Yorker  who  fancies  himself,  called  a  bell-boy  and  turned 
his  back  on  me.  I  remained  in  Chicago  three  days.  Not 
a  reporter  sent  up  his  card.  Not  a  line  appeared  in  a 

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newspaper.  It  was  the  most  chastening  experience  of  my 
life.  No  doubt  it  did  me  good.  My  ego  has  actually  felt 
lighter."  He  smiled.  But  he  added  in  a  moment:  "It 
left  a  scar,  nevertheless." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Isabel,  consolingly.  "All  that  will 
read  delightfully  in  your  biography.  What  on  this  difficult 
globe  is  not  difficult,  first,  last,  and  always  ?  The  only 
thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  snap  your  fingers  at  everything, 
as  we  do  out  here,  and  see  nothing  in  the  future  but  suc 
cess.  How  do  you  like  the  land  of  your  birth  ?" 

"I  hate  it!"  he  said  intensely.  "Washington  is  a  crude 
unwieldy  village.  New  York  is  liker  one  of  those  night 
mares  a  certain  class  of  writers  project  and  label  'Earth  in 
the  Year  2000.'  Chicago  is  the  entrails  of  the  universe. 
The  small  interior  towns  and  villages  of  the  Eastern  States 
are  open  mausoleums  for  people  so  old  and  so  dried  up 
that  their  end  will  be  not  death  but  desiccation.  There  is 
nothing  picturesque  in  those  old  towns,  for  they  were  dead 
before  they  were  civilized.  Some  of  the  cities  and  villages 
of  the  South  are  certainly  attractive  to  look  at  and  have 
a  background  of  a  sort,  but  they  are  as  lifeless  as  their 
negroes.  The  cities  of  the  West  are  hives,  and  when  you 
have  seen  one  you  have  seen  all.  Its  smaller  communi 
ties  are  horrors,  pure  and  simple.  Much  of  the  country 
is  magnificent.  The  Adirondacks,  the  Hudson  River, 
Yellowstone,  those  great  prairies  and  deserts,  atone  for  a 
good  deal.  The  last  three  weeks  I  have  spent  in  southern 
California.  It  seemed  to  me — below  Santa  Barbara,  at 
least  —  little  more  than  a  reclaimed  desert  —  and  with 
nothing  of  the  wonderful  atmospheric  effects  of  the  great 
interior  deserts;  nothing  but  dirt  and  a  hideous  low  shrub 
caked  with  prehistoric  dust.  Precious  little  of  it  reclaimed 

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ANCESTORS 

at  that.  I  am  glad  that  ranch  is  in  good  hands.  I  never 
want  to  see  the  place  again.  That  eternally  grinning  sky! 
That  dead  atmosphere!  It  blunted  my  nerves  for  the 
time,  but  the  reaction  is  all  the  worse.  However—  He 
stood  up  and  leaned  over  the  railing.  "I  did  not  expect 
the  earthly  paradise.  I  am  not  going  to  treat  you  to  a 
continued  diatribe — 

"But  you  must  like  California — love  it!'*  cried  Isabel, 
in  alarm.  "Of  course  you  have  hated  everything — nat 
ural  enough — but  not  California!  It  is  your  State,  your 
home,  your  future.  You  must  begin  by  liking  it,  at  least. 

"Very  well,  mentor,  I  shall  do  my  best.  One  might 
certainly  indulge  in  an  illusion  or  two  up  here.  I  thought 
as  I  walked — climbed — through  the  city,  guided  a  part 
of  the  way  by  a  messenger-boy,  who  ejaculated  at  inter 
vals,  'Say,  mister!'  and  described  Nob  Hill  as  the  *  mill 
ionaire  bunch,'  that  I  had  seldom  seen  so  many  ugly 
buildings  together;  but  from  this  perch  of  yours  it  looks 
quite  beautiful.  Still  I  long  for  the  country.  Can  we 
go  to  the  ranch  this  afternoon  ?" 

"Why  not?"  Isabel  stifled  a  sigh.  She  had  intended 
to  ride  all  round  the  city  on  the  electric  cars;  but  she  felt 
as  if  she  had  an  adopted  homesick  child  on  her  hands,  and 
he  was  a  responsibility  that  she  had  deliberately  assumed. 
Moreover,  she  felt  deeply  sorry  for  him. 

"You  can  express  all  your  luggage  but  a  portmanteau, 
and  we  will  go  in  my  launch.  It  is  down  on  the  bay 
side  of  the  Hill.  We  must  start  at  four  to  catch  the 
tide.  You  have  no  idea  how  cosey  and  pretty  your 
ranch-house  looks,  and  I  have  sent  out  my  uncle's  law 
— and  farm — library.  I  have  arranged  everything  with 
Judge  Leslie,  and  you  enter  his  office  at  once.  He 

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ANCESTORS 

is  the  first  lawyer  of  northern  California.  I  wrote 
you  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  conceal  the  truth 
from  him,  as  his  firm  has  done  all  the  legal  business  of 
the  estate  for  the  last  thirty  years,  and  he  knows  your 
mother  has  only  one  son.  But  he  is  the  more  interested. 
No  one  else  knows  but  Mr.  Colton  and  his  son  Tom — 
your  Rosewater  bankers  and  agents.  Your  secret  is  safe 
with  them.  Gwynne  is  not  an  uncommon  name  in  Cali 
fornia,  although  some  of  its  letters  have  been  dropped. 
Lumalitas  has  been  leased  for  so  many  years  that  your 
name  has  ceased  to  be  associated  with  it  in  the  public 
mind,  and  the  deeds  are  so  deeply  buried  in  the  archives 
of  St.  Peter — the  county-seat — that  the  most  curious  would 
hardly  attempt  to  unearth  them.  Of  course  most  towns 
people  all  through  the  State  take  in  a  San  Francisco  paper, 
and  your  name  has  doubtless  appeared  now  and  again 
in  the  telegrams.  But  they  are  not  the  sort  that  take  the 
least  interest  in  the  career  of  a  young  Englishman — those 
that  do,  at  all  events,  are  few  and  far  between.  Judge 
Leslie  is  deeply  interested;  so  is  Tom  Colton,  the  only  son 
of  the  bank,  so  to  speak.  He  is  a  Democrat,  by-the-way — 
but  I  don't  suppose  you  have  made  up  your  mind — 

"I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind.  In  practice  one  party 
seems  about  as  bad  as  the  other,  but  at  least  the  Democratic 
ideals  more  nearly  correspond  with  my  own.  Besides,  the 
Democratic  party  is  the  under  dog,  and  that  always  appeals 
to  me,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that  it  is  weak  in  strong 
men,  that  all  its  salient  leaders  are  what  you  so  elegantly 
term  *  blatherskites/  If  I  go  in  for  American  politics,  I 
must  fight  so  hard  that  I  cannot  help  becoming  absorbed 
body  and  soul;  with  only  the  present  and  the  future — no 
past.  Let  us  take  a  walk  over  these  hills." 

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~^\O  you  run  this  thing  yourself?"  asked  Gwynne,  as 
1 — x  they  boarded  the  launch,  which  was  at  anchor  by  the 
end  of  the  sea  wall  at  the  foot  of  Russian  Hill. 

"Rather.  How  do  you  expect  me  to  make  a  fortune  in 
this  paradise  of  the  labor-union  if  I  don't  do  things  myself? 
I  have  a  hard  time  being  economical,  and  I  suspect  that 
where  I  save  once  I  spend  twice,  but  I  try  not  to  think 
about  it.  Theories  make  life  so  palatable!  This  old 
launch  belonged  to  Uncle  Hiram.  I  had  it  repaired,  and 
take  my  eggs  to  the  hatcheries  and  my  produce  to  Rose- 
water  three  times  a  week.  There  I  deal  direct  with  the 
San  Francisco  buyers — and  in  this  launch;  it  serves  me 
very  well  as  an  office.  Then  I  come  down  in  it  every 
week.  The  railroad  is  exorbitant,  and  the  boats  are  too 
slow.  It  may  be  that  gasolene  and  repairs  cost  more  than 
a  railroad  fare  once  a  week,  but  I  have  abstained  from 
making  a  comparison.  The  trip  is  so  delightful!" 

The  launch  was  about  twenty  feet  long  with  a  small 
cabin  and  a  fresh  coat  of  brown  paint.  It  shot  lightly  over 
the  smooth  water,  and  Gvvynne  sat  on  top  of  the  cabin 
above  Isabel  swinging  his  long  legs,  and  looked  with  some 
envy  at  the  hundreds  of  yachts  that  skimmed  the  bay. 
They  appeared  and  vanished  about  the  corners  of  the 
Islands  and  promontories  like  birds  swooping  after  prey. 
The  Islands  and  all  the  mainland  had  lost  their  greens 

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ANCESTORS 

long  since,  but  the  burnt  grasses  shone  in  the  sun  like  ham 
mered  gold;  were  tan  and  brown  and  fawn  on  the  shadowed 
eastern  slopes.  The  chain  of  mountains  beyond  the  towns 
across  the  bay  and  facing  San  Francisco  glittered  like 
bronze,  but  the  lofty  volcanic  peak  of  Monte  Diablo, 
farther  still,  was  a  pale  and  misty  blue.  North  of  the 
Golden  Gate  and  high  above  the  mountains  of  Marin 
County,  Mount  Tamalpais  was  so  intense  and  hard  a 
blue,  and  was  cut  against  the  fleckless  sky  with  so  sharp  an 
outline,  that  it  produced  in  Gwynne  a  vague  sense  of  un 
reality  and  uneasiness.  The  Marconi  poles  on  the  summit 
looked  like  the  masts  of  a  mammoth  ship,  and  every 
window  of  The  Tavern,  close  by  them,  shone  like  a  plate  of 
brass. 

They  steered  for  the  southern  point  of  Angel  Island,  and 
Gwynne  looked  about  him  with  much  interest.  The 
mainland  of  the  great  northern  cove  and  the  eastern  side 
of  the  Islands  were  thick  with  trees:  oaks,  buckeye, 
willows,  madrono.  And  almost  as  thickly  set,  although 
sometimes  half  hidden,  were  the  villas:  light  and  airy 
of  architecture,  gayly  painted,  with  broad  verandas  and 
overhanging  vines.  At  the  foot  of  Belvedere  and  the 
little  town  of  Tiburon  were  house-boats,  in  which  people 
lived  for  eight  months  of  the  year. 

Arid  everywhere,  people,  people,  people.  They  swarmed 
in  the  yachts,  on  the  house-boats,  on  the  driveways,  the 
verandas.  Gwynne  twisted  about  and  looked  at  San 
Francisco.  The  palaces  were  on  the  heights  and  in  the 
Western  Addition — out  towards  the  Presidio  and  the 
Golden  Gate;  but  hundreds  of  tiny  dwellings  clung  to  the 
precipitous  sides  of  Telegraph  Hill  and  Russian  Hill  as 
if  their  foundations  were  talons.  And  each  had  its  bit 

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ANCESTORS 

of  garden,  or  its  balcony  full  of  flowers.  Telegraph  Hill, 
the  great  bluff  where  the  city  turned  almost  at  a  right 
angle  from  north  to  south,  was  given  over  largely  to 
Mexicans  and  Italians,  and  was  uncommonly  vivid.  And 
the  streets  were  full  of  people.  The  city  had  turned  itself 
inside  out.  Everywhere  were  bright  gowns  and  parasols, 
whizzing  cars  packed  to  the  rails. 

And  the  wealthy  class  by  no  means  monopolized  the 
bay  with  their  yachts  and  luxurious  launches.  There  were 
fishing-smacks  filled  with  whole  families  of  Italians  and 
Chinese;  in  fact  every  tongue  floated  over  the  water  in 
the  course  of  a  brilliant  Sunday  afternoon.  And  at  the 
docks  there  were  steamers,  sailing  vessels,  from  all  the 
ports  of  the  world,  a  forest  of  spars  and  funnels;  odd  lit 
tle  Italian  craft  and  even  a  Chinese  junk.  A  man-of-war 
was  coming  down  from  Mare  Island.  Gwynne  had  seen 
a  big  Australian  liner  flying  the  Union  Jack  enter  the 
Golden  Gate  as  the  launch  rounded  Angel  Island.  It 
jnade  him  homesick,  and  he  was  not  sorry  to  lose  sight 
of  it. 

They  passed  steamboats  crowded  with  holiday  seekers 
coming  home  from  a  day's  outing  in  Sausalito,  San  Rafael, 
Mill  Valley,  sporting  parks;  the  majority  noisy  and  vulgar, 
but  a  mass  of  color.  It  was  a  scene  of  surpassing  varie 
ty,  life,  gayety,  prosperity,  importance.  Gwynne,  as  the 
light  electrical  breeze  began  to  prick  his  veins,  experienced 
a  sensation  of  pride  in  the  country  where  his  lines  were 
cast,  in  those  ancestors  of  his  that  had  memorably  helped 
to  develop  its  vast  resources:  a  tremendous  concession, 
for  he  had  barely  acknowledged  these  ancestors  before. 
A  slight  meed  of  resignation  descended  upon  him.  He 
smiled  down  upon  Isabel,  who  was  frowning  at  the  sun 

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ANCESTORS 

and  sighing  for  her  forgotten  veil;  she  had  a  tender  regard 
for  her  complexion.  Gwynne  thought  her  very  pretty  in 
her  smart  crash  suit  and  sailor  hat,  not  nearly  so  severe 
and  fateful  in  appearance  as  when  she  had  adjusted  herself 
to  the  formalities  of  Capheaton;  although  he  remembered 
that  he  had  heard  much  discussion  of  her  beauty  and  had 
not  been  unappreciative  himself.  But  he  liked  her  far  bet 
ter  here  in  California.  Her  eyes  were  more  alert,  her  voice 
was  less  monotonous;  and  those  little  black  moles  looked 
particularly  fascinating  on  the  ivory  white  of  her  skin, 
fairly  luminous  in  the  sunlight.  He  fancied  they  would 
drift  into  matrimony;  and  that  she  appeared  to  be  as  in 
different  and  passionless  as  she  was  handsome  and  clever 
but  the  better  suited  his  present  mood.  His  love  for  Mrs. 
Kaye  had  died  a  sudden  and  violent  death,  but  it  had  left 
him  callous,  somewhat  contemptuous  of  the  charms  of 
woman.  He  doubted  if  his  heart  would  ever  beat  high  in 
his  breast  again,  but  in  the  course  of  events  he  should  need 
a  partner,  and  Isabel  seemed  to  him  fashioned  to  be  the 
helpmate  of  a  busy  and  ambitious  statesman. 

But  all  he  said  was:  "You  have  a  little  freckle  on  your 
nose.  I  saw  it  come." 

Isabel  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  sniffed.  He  lost 
interest  in  her  for  the  moment,  for  he  distrusted  a  woman 
without  vanity.  He  knew  girls  too  little  to  suspect  that 
the  most  business-like  were  often  smitten  with  a  desire  to 
pose;  and  were  as  likely  to  forget  the  pose  of  to-day  in  the 
naturalness  of  to-morrow.  Secretly,  Isabel  was  grievously 
afflicted  at  the  thought  of  the  freckle,  and  did  not  speak  for 
some  time,  recalling  the  antidotes  of  her  early  girlhood, 
when  she  and  Anabel  Leslie  experimented  in  secret  with 
various  beauty  recipes  cut  from  the  newspapers.  She 

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ANCESTORS 

smiled  as  she  recalled  that  Anabel,  who  had  pretty  golden 
hair,  had  washed  it  with  lye  to  acquire  a  reddish  tinge,  and 
been  forced  to  retire  for  a  month;  and  a  semi-tragic  ex 
perience  of  her  own — smothered  from  crown  to  toe  in  a 
blanket  taking  a  hot-air  bath  for  the  benefit  of  her  com 
plexion,  the  spirit  lamp,  in  a  wash-basin  under  the  chair, 
exploded,  and  there  was  one  interminable  moment  of 
panic,  and  several  days  of  discomfort.  She  quite  forgot 
her  companion  in  these  lighter  reminiscences  of  a  period 
that  seemed  far  more  than  ten  years  agone. 

Gwynne  had  discovered  at  Capheaton  that  one  of  his 
cousin's  charms  was  her  absence  of  effort  in  conversation 
and  a  corresponding  indifference  to  effort  in  others.  They 
did  not  exchange  a  syllable  as  they  sped  up  the  wider 
expanse  of  the  bay  east  of  the  Islands,  and  he  watched  the 
hills  and  mountains  close  on  his  left,  with  their  bright  little 
towns  and  sombre  depths  of  forest.  Many  of  the  rounded 
cones  of  the  foothills  were  bare,  and  so  was  the  rocky 
crest  of  Tamalpais,  but  the  old  redwoods  still  held  trium 
phant  possession  of  several  of  the  slopes  and  all  of  the 
canons.  Here  and  there  factories  and  warehouses  marred 
the  almost  primeval  beauty  of  the  scene,  but  to-day  at 
least  there  was  no  smoke  to  cobweb  the  radiant  sky.  Even 
the  Chinese  shrimp-pickers  were  lounging  on  the  beach 
before  their  little  shack  village. 

They  passed  the  last  of  the  towns.  Towers  and  sharp 
roofs  rose  above  the  mass  of  cultivated  trees  in  some 
private  park;  the  trees  a  motley  collection  of  pines  and 
palms,  eucalyptus  and  oak,  madrono,  laurel,  locust,  and 
acacia.  The  gardens  were  full  of  children  and  birds. 
On  the  roads  horses  in  old-fashioned  buggies  danced  at 
automobiles  whizzing  by.  In  the  yachts  even  the  men 

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ANCESTORS 

had  laid  aside  their  keen  anxious  look — as  peculiar  to  the 
young  San  Franciscan  of  business  as  to  the  New-Yorker 
or  Westerner — and  were  bent  upon  absolute  relaxation 
for  the  day.  One  millionaire  was  alone  in  his  big  lux 
urious  launch,  a  broad  grin  on  his  homely  ingenuous 
countenance,  and  even  his  mouth  open  to  inhale  the 
clean  and  sparkling  air.  His  hands  were  clasped  on  his 
curves. 

"He  inherited,"  said  Isabel,  in  reply  to  Gwynne's  com 
ment  that  he  did  not  look  as  if  he  ever  expended  his 
energies  in  the  piling  of  dollars.  "And  he  doesn't  want 
any  more.  But  they  all  look  well  enough.  It  is  not  only 
the  climate  but  the  cooking." 

They  left  San  Francisco  Bay  and  Isabel  steered  more 
carefully:  the  channel  in  the  Bay  of  San  Pablo  is  nar 
row  and  the  current  treacherous.  When  they  reached 
the  drawbridge  they  were  not  only  alone  on  the  wide 
silvery  expanse  of  water,  but  there  was  scarcely  a  country- 
house  to  break  the  wild  loneliness  of  mountain  and 
canon.  After  they  entered  Rosewater  Creek  the  moun 
tains  with  their  broken  and  multiplying  ridges  were 
more  imposing  still,  and  before  long  another  range  began 
to  taper  northward  on  the  opposite  shore.  They  were 
in  the  great  tidal  marsh  now,  green,  where  all  the  rest  of 
the  world  was  burnt  and  dry.  At  times  the  creek  was  as 
wide  as  an  ordinary  river,  at  others  so  contracted  that  one 
could  gather  grass  on  either  side.  Isabel  told  Gwynne 
to  "watch  out  for  other  boats,"  for  the  creek  wound  and 
twisted  and  doubled  like  a  mammoth  brown  snake  into 
an  infinite  perspective,  broken  here  and  there  by  sailing 
boats  that  had  the  effect  of  skimming  the  land.  It  was  a 

O 

scene  reminiscent  of  Holland,  but  far  more  beautiful,  with 

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A      N       C       E       S T       O       R       S 

the  wild  primeval  character  of  the  landscape  and  the 
grandeur  of  the  mountains. 

Isabel  indicated  an  island  well  out  in  the  marsh.  It 
was  crowned  with  a  white  house  shaded  by  many  trees. 
Men  in  duck  trousers,  and  coatless,  were  lounging  in  the 
shade. 

"That  is  a  country  club,"  she  said.  "Tom  Colton  will 
put  you  up.  But  if  you  are  still  disinclined  to  sociabilities 
you  can  shoot  all  the  ducks  you  want  on  my  place." 

"Shoot  what?" 

"Best  duck-shooting  in  the  world  is  out  here — canvas- 
back,  teal,  English  widgeon  —  fancy  your  not  knowing 
that.  It  begins  on  the  fifteenth  of  October.  I  have  not 
rented  my  marshlands  this  year,  and  intend  to  shoot  ducks 
for  the  market.  You  can  help  me  and  we'll  go  halves." 

Gwynne's  eyes  were  sparkling.  He  had  expected  to 
kill  his  bear  and  deer,  but  any  variety  of  sport  new  or  old 
gave  him  joy.  Isabel  pointed  to  many  little  shanties  on 
the  edge  of  the  marsh. 

"The  more  enthusiastic  sit  in  those  and  wait  for  the 
tide  to  come  back.  I  avoid  being  left  high  and  dry,  for 
if  the  ducks  go  elsewhere  it  is  rather  a  bore." 

The  mountains  on  the  left  diminished  in  height,  turned 
off  abruptly  to  the  northwest,  following  the  coast  line. 
Those  on  the  right  took  form  in  the  pink  mist  that  en 
veloped  them,  for  the  sun  had  set.  All  the  lower  sky  was 
pink,  melting  imperceptibly  into  the  still  pale  blue  of 
day.  Far  to  the  north  other  mountains  seemed  sudden 
ly  to  heave  from  the  level,  villages  appeared,  with  great 
stretches  of  farming  land  between.  Then  the  glow  faded 
into  the  gray  of  twilight  and  the  vast  landscape  took  on 
a  sudden  aspect  of  desolation;  as  of  a  country  stranded, 

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ANCESTORS 

forgotten,  with  a  heap  of  stones  here  and  there  to  mark 
some  ancient  civilization. 

"There  is  Rosewater — over  there  where  the  lights  are 
coming  out;  and  here  we  are,"  said  Isabel. 

Gwynne  turned  with  a  start  and  found  that  Isabel  had 
run  her  launch  up  to  a  little  pier.  Behind  it  was  a  cluster 
of  low  hills  set  with  narrow  fields  and  tiny  white  houses. 
In  the  foreground  was  a  large  house  of  two  stories  and  no 
architecture  whatever,  although  the  roof  was  mercifully 
flat.  It  was  painted  white  and  surrounded  by  a  broad 
veranda.  The  garden  was  full  of  bare  rosebushes  and 
blooming  chrysanthemums,  but  save  for  two  mournful 
eucalypti  and  a  naked  acacia,  there  was  not  a  tree  in 
sight.  Just  behind  were  many  out-buildings,  stark  and 
white. 

"  Is  this  where  you  live  ?"  asked  Gwynne,  wonderingly. 
He  had  vaguely  pictured  her  in  a  romantic  setting,  a  bit 
of  California  epitomized. 

"It  was  like  Uncle  Hiram  to  sell  off  the  prettiest  parts, 
but  I  don't  bother  about  anything  I  can't  help,  and  I  have 
a  lovely  view  opposite.  Where  is  that  boy  ?"  She  raised 
her  voice  and  called,  "Chuma!  Chuma!"  and  in  a  moment 
a  Japanese  boy  came  running  down  to  the  pier. 

"The  two  men  spend  Sunday  in  Rosewater,  but  I  have 
trained  my  Jap  to  do  a  little  of  everything,"  said  Isabel, 
as  they  walked  up  to  the  house.  "He  is  one  of  the  willing 
sort;  most  are  not.  Chuma  is  my  cook  and  butler  and 
chambermaid — " 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  live  here  without  any  other 
woman  ?" 

"Why  not?  No  girl  would  stay  in  this  lonely  plac«. 
I  should  have  to  send  her  in  to  Rosewater  every  night  and 
xa  203 


A      N       C       E       S       T       O     JR S 

get  a  second  girl  to  keep  her  company.  Mac — who  was 
with  Uncle  Hiram  before  I  was  born — sleeps  in  the  house. 
It  was  a  hotel  forty  years  ago,  by-the-way,  and  is  still  known 
as  Old  Inn.  That  was  in  the  days  of  picturesque  ruf 
fianism,  and  there  are  terrible  stories  about  the  house,  but 
no  ghosts." 

It  had  been  decided  that  Gwynne  should  dine  with 
Isabel  and  spend  the  night  at  the  hotel  in  Rosewater. 
Isabel  had  telephoned  to  her  patient  Jap,  and  there  was  a 
log  fire  in  the  "parlor" — now  transformed  into  a  com 
fortable  living-room.  Gwynne  looked  about  him  with 
considerable  curiosity  while  Isabel  was  up-stairs  dressing. 
The  walls  were  "ceiled"  with  redwood  and  hung  with  the 
photographs  she  had  accumulated  in  her  travels,  a  motley 
collection  of  many  climes,  from  the  snows  of  the  Alps  to 
the  patios  of  Seville;  all,  she  had  informed  him,  with  a  per 
sonal  association :  "she  was  no  photograph  fiend."  Several 
artist's  sketches  arrested  her  guest's  attention  and  he  won 
dered  what  her  life  in  Paris  had  been.  He  fancied  that 
her  three  years  abroad  were  full  of  curious  chapters,  most 
of  them  untold;  but  although  she  mystified  him  he  could 
not  associate  her  with  license  of  any  sort.  There  was  even 
a  hint  of  austerity  about  her,  as  if  she  drew  strength  from 
her  Puritan  forefathers. 

It  was  patent,  however,  that  she  felt  herself  entitled  to 
physical  comforts  after  the  labors  of  her  day.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  easy-chairs  and  a  big  divan  covered  with 
cushions.  The  carpet  and  cushions  were  red,  but  al 
though  the  room  was  delightfully  comfortable  and  home 
like  it  might  have  been  a  bachelor's,  so  entirely  were 
lacking  all  the  little  devices  of  femininity.  The  only  orna 
ments  in  the  room  were  an  odd  assortment  of  Tyrolese 

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A      N      C       -E       S       T      0       R      S 

pipes  and  Indian  baskets.  On  a  shelf  above  the  divan, 
however,  were  many  books,  and  Gwynne  ran  his  eye  over 
them.  They  included  masterpieces  of  the  modern  Rus 
sian,  German,  French,  and  Italian  schools;  only  three  or 
four  volumes  of  English  criticism.  A  set  of  shelves  op 
posite  was  filled  with  the  standard  English  and  American 
histories,  essays,  and  novels,  many  of  them  old  and  bound 
in  calf.  The  upper  shelf  was  devoted  entirely  to  the  Rus 
sian  novelists,  and  the  bindings  were  new. 

When  Isabel  came  down,  looking  very  pretty  in  a  blue 
evening  frock,  simple  enough  to  make  her  guest  feel  at 
ease  in  his  travelling-clothes,  but  carefully  selected  with 
an  eye  to  effect,  she  sent  him  up  to  her  room  to  make  his 
own  simple  toilet. 

"I  suppose  I  should  furnish  a  spare  room,"  she  re 
marked.  "  But  if  I  did  I  should  have  Paula — my  adopted 
sister — and  her  family  here  whenever  they  happened  to 
want  to  come,  which  would  be  always  when  I  didn't  want 
them.  But  you  won't  mind." 

Gwynne  made  a  wry  face  as  he  sat  down  before  the 
dressing-table  that  he  might  reflect  his  visage  while  he 
brushed  his  hair.  Nevertheless,  he  cast  about  a  curious 
and  apologetic  eye,  in  the  belief  that  a  woman's  bedroom 
must  reveal  some  secret  of  her  personality.  This  bedroom 
was  so  simple  and  girlish  that  it  gave  him  a  vague  sense  of 
pleasure.  The  windows  and  dressing-table  were  covered 
with  white  muslin,  and  there  was  a  canopy  of  the  same 
above  the  little  brass  bedstead.  The  flounces  were  so  full 
and  fluffy  that  he  held  his  knees  back  nervously  lest  he 
should  disturb  a  puff.  There  was  no  other  furniture  in 
the  room  but  two  rocking-chairs,  and  the  only  color  was 
in  the  blue  Japanese  rugs  scattered  over  the  white  matting, 

205 


ANCESTORS 

and  in  two  immense  bows  above  the  dressing-table  and 
bed.  He  decided,  as  he  ran  down  the  stairs  to  the  warm 
room  below,  that  she  understood  both  taste  and  comfort, 
and  looked  forward  to  his  own  lonely  ranch-house  with 
more  equanimity  than  when  he  had  paid  the  bill. 


THERE  were  two  miles  between  Rosewater  and  Old 
Inn,  but  although  Isabel  rode  briskly  and  was  sen 
sible  as  ever  of  the  keen  buoyant  quality  of  the  morning 
air  that  so  often  filled  her  with  a  pagan  indifference  to  the 
human  side  of  life,  her  thoughts  were  with  the  pleasant 
evening  by  her  fireside,  the  supper  in  the  low  raftered 
room  which  once  had  been  the  office  of  the  hotel — a  supper 
of  fried  chicken,  transparent  asparagus,  and  soda  biscuit, 
which  Gwynne  had  disposed  of  with  a  school-boy's  enthu 
siasm — the  hundred  and  one  impersonal  topics  they  had 
discussed  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  before  the  logs,  until  Abe, 
the  second  hired  man — who  was  to  drive  Gwynne  in  to 
Rosewater  —  had  opened  the  kitchen  door  three  times 
and  coughed.  Not  since  Isabel's  return  to  California  had 
she  sat  at  a  fireside  and  talked  to  anybody;  nor,  indeed, 
with  the  exception  of  her  father  in  his  lucid  intervals,  and 
her  uncle  in  his  rare  moments  of  expansion,  had  she  ever 
talked  with  any  one  that  covered  the  large  range  of  her 
own  interests.  Gwynne  had  snapped  the  lock  on  his 
unquiet  spirit,  but  in  that  comfortable  domestic  environ 
ment,  half  lying  in  an  easy-chair,  with  his  gaze  travelling 
indolently  between  the  fire  and  the  animated  face  of  his 
cousin,  he  had  talked  of  her  favorite  books  and  told  her 
much  of  lands  she  had  never  visited.  He  had  transferred 
himself  to  the  buggy  with  a  grumble  of  disgust,  and  begged 

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ANCESTORS 

her  to  come  for  him  early  in  the  morning.  He  refused  to 
pay  his  first  visit  to  his  ranch  without  her;  and  she  had 
promised  that  Abe  should  go  early  for  his  saddle-horse 
and  meet  her  at  the  hotel. 

Pleasurable  as  the  evening  had  been,  Isabel  was  not 
in  a  sentimental  frame  of  mind;  she  was  stirred  at  the 
prospect  of  a  companion,  and  wondered  that  she  had 
been  content  in  her  solitude  so  long.  Solitude  and  com 
plete  liberty  might  be  indispensable  elements  in  her  ideal 
of  mortal  existence,  but  desultory  companionship  might 
be  as  necessary  to  intensify  them. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  since  her  return,  and  outside  of  the 
bank  parlor  and  Judge  Leslie's  office,  she  had  held  naught 
but  business  converse  with  any  man.  Nor  with  any 
woman.  Although  Rosewater  society  offered  her  nothing 
and  she  was  glad  to  live  out  of  town,  still  she  liked  her  old 
school  friends  and  had  expected  them  to  call  on  her.  But 
weeks  had  passed  and  not  one  of  them  had  paid  her  the 
mere  civilities.  She  met  them  sometimes  on  Saturday 
afternoons,  when  all  the  world  of  Rosewater  shopped  on 
Main  Street,  and  they  invariably  greeted  her  with  effusion, 
and  assured  her  they  were  "going  out  soon."  Finally, 
busy  and  absorbed  as  she  was,  she  fell  a  prey  to  curiosity. 
She  knew  that  the  young  men  had  always  rather  feared  her, 
as  she  had  a  forbidding  reputation  in  the  way  of  "book- 
ishness";  and  as  most  of  them  had  either  left  Rosewater 
or  married,  in  the  four  years  of  her  absence,  she  had  ex 
pected  nothing  from  them.  But  the  girls  ?  The  young 
married  women,  who  had  been  her  comrades  at  the  High 
School  ?  Did  they  resent  her  three  years  abroad  and  the 
sense  of  superiority  implied  ?  It  was  patent  from  their 
manner  that  they  resented  nothing.  Did  they  disapprove 

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A      N      C       E       S       T       0       R S 

of  her  becoming  so  energetic  a  business  woman  ?  It  was 
true  that  the  girls  of  California's  country  towns,  except 
when  forced  by  poverty  to  work,  were  the  laziest  mortals 
on  earth.  But  nothing  could  exceed  their  good-nature 
and  entire  indifference.  Isabel  might  have  started  a  race 
track  or  opened  a  livery-stable  and  they  would  have 
vaguely  admired,  and  been  thankful  that  themselves 
were  as  God  made  them.  Her  friend  Anabel  Colton  was 
in  the  south  with  an  ailing  child,  and  Mrs.  Leslie  was  with 
her,  or  the  problem  would  have  been  quickly  solved. 

One  morning  she  met  the  beauty  of  Rosewater  on  Main 
Street,  Miss  Dolly  Boutts,  a  girl  who  had  been  half  grown 
when  she  left,  but  one  of  her  own  rapturous  admirers. 
Main  Street  was  crowded,  but  Miss  Boutts  rushed  up  and 
kissed  her,  protesting  that  she  had  been  trying  for  two 
months  to  get  out  to  see  her.  Isabel  guided  her  firmly 
to  an  ice-cream  table  in  the  candy  store,  and  while  Miss 
Boutts,  who  was  a  superb  specimen  of  animal  beauty  with 
a  corresponding  appetite,  disposed  of  two  saucers  of  the 
delectable  and  a  plate  of  cakes,  Isabel  dived  to  the  heart 
of  the  mystery. 

She  began  by  dilating  upon  her  pleasure  in  being  home 
again,  and  then  congratulated  her  handsome  friend,  with 
a  touch  of  sarcasm,  upon  the  overwhelming  gayeties  of 
Rosewater. 

Miss  Boutts  stared.     "Gayeties  ?"  said  she. 

"What  else  ?  I  never  knew  people  so  absorbed,  al 
though  I  fail  to  see  why  I  should  be  wholly  excluded.  Or 
have  the  fashions  changed,  and  was  I  expected  to  call 
first—" 

Miss  Boutts,  who  was  not  particularly  quick  of  appre 
hension,  here  threw  back  her  head  and  gave  a  musical 

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ANCESTORS 

laugh,  which  was  out  of  tune  with  her  drawling  nasal 
voice  and  abundant  slang. 

"You  innocent!"  she  cried.  "Where  have  you  been  ? 
I  suppose  you  have  been  imagining  us  at  dances  and 
dinners  and  teas  and  things.  Why,  we  have  only  danced 
twice  in  two  whole  years.  It's  cards,  my  dear.  We  are 
card  mad,  the  whole  bunch  of  us,  old  and  young,  women 
and  girls.  Mrs.  Leslie  and  Anabel  Colton  are  about  the 
only  exceptions,  at  least  in  our  set.  But  I  fancy  the  whole 
town  has  got  it.  We  play  morning,  noon,  and  night — 
literally.  Those  who  have  no  servants — and  that  ques 
tion  gets  worse  instead  of  better — don't  make  their  beds 
for  days,  and  their  husbands  get  dinner  at  any  old  hour. 
Those  who  have  a  servant  or  two  belong  to  six  clubs  at 
least.  I  belong  to  every  one  of  them,  and  two  meet  in 
the  morning." 

It  had  been  Isabel's  turn  to  stare.  The  older  people  had 
always  played  bezique  or  whist,  but  rather  somnolently 
of  an  evening.  She  wondered  if  the  old  gambling  spirit 
had  broken  out  again,  and  asked  if  they  were  playing 
poker  or  monte.  Miss  Boutts  looked  at  her  with  positive 
scorn. 

"You  girls  that  go  to  Europe  and  stay  there  too  long 
get  fearfully  behind  things.  Poker!  Monte!  We  play 
bridge  and  five  hundred."  Then  her  genuine  affection 
for  Isabel  overcame  her  contempt.  "We  have  spoken 
often  of  asking  you  to  join  the  clubs,"  she  added,  sweetly. 
"But  there  isn't  a  vacancy  at  present." 

"I  couldn't  think  of  it.  Chickens  and  cards  don't 
rhyme.  What  do  you  play  for — money  ?" 

"No!"  The  scorn  returned  to  her  voice.  "We  are 
still  too  provincial  for  that.  San  Francisco  is  ahead 

210 


ANCESTORS 

of  us  there.  We  don't  even  have  real  big  prizes — just 
a  dinky  little  spoon  sitting  up  on  the  mantel-piece  to  ex 
cite  us  as  if  it  was  a  tiara.  I've  won  a  whole  bunch  of 
them.  They're  better  than  nothing  and  mean  a  lot  of 
fun.  I'm  as  proud  as  punch  of  them." 

"And  the  men?"  asked  Isabel.  Did  they  play,  too? 
Miss  Boutts  replied  that  they  were  too  busy  in  the  daytime, 
but  were  asked  once  a  week  to  a  "bang-up"  affair.  Their 
other  evenings  they  spent  at  the  lodges — "or  any  old 
place,"  added  Miss  Boutts,  who  had  no  brothers,  and  a 
very  busy  father.  When  Isabel  asked  her  if  she  had  not 
the  natural  yearning  of  her  age  and  sex  for  beaux,  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  replied: 

"Rather.  But  where  are  you  going  to  find  them  here  ? 
Pa  won't  live  in  the  city,  and  all  the  young  men  run  away. 
Once  in  a  while  I  visit  in  San  Francisco,  and  we  go  down 
to  all  the  new  plays,  so  I  suppose  I'll  meet  my  fate  in  time. 
Meanwhile,  as  there's  nothing  doing  in  that  line  here, 
cards  are  a  mighty  fine  substitute  for  beaux,  and  no 
mistake." 

Isabel  had  been  glad  to  be  rid  of  her,  and  of  her  other 
old  friends,  who  did  call  in  due  course.  Anabel  had  not 
returned  and  was  the  worst  of  correspondents.  So  it  had 
fallen  out  that  she  had  held  no  real  converse  with  youth 
until  Gwynne's  advent,  and  she  accepted  it  with  delight, 
and  shook  her  head  with  young  triumph  in  being  able  to 
interest  him — or  in  joy  of  the  sparkling  air;  she  hardly 
knew  which. 

As  Gwynne  left  his  room  the  Japanese  "chamber 
maid,"  who  had  been  about  to  knock,  informed  him  that 
Miss  Otis  awaited  him  below.  He  ran  down-stairs  and 


ANCESTORS 

found  her  still  on  her  horse.     Abe  held  another  horse  by 
the  bridle. 

"It  is  nine  o'clock — "  began  Isabel,  but  Gwynne  inter 
rupted  her,  rarely  apologetic. 

"I  hardly  slept.  There  was  such  an  infernal  racket. 
A  theatrical  troupe — " 

"There  generally  is.     How  do  you  like  your  horse  ?" 

Gwynne  examined  the  horse,  and  was  good  enough  to 
remark  that  it  was  a  credit  to  California.  Then  he  added: 
"It  did  not  occur  to  me  last  night — my  luggage  is  ex 
pressed  to  the  ranch  and  I  haven't  my  riding-togs — 
Then  he  reddened  at  Isabel's  gay  laugh  and  Abe's  sup 
pressed  smile. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Isabel,  as  she  sprang  from  her  horse. 
"The  bloods  will  be  too  busy  to  notice  as  we  ride  down 
Main  Street,  and  after  that  it  won't  matter." 

She  went  with  him  into  the  dining-room  of  the  hotel, 
a  room  scrupulously  clean,  but  with  no  attempt  at  decora 
tion  beyond  the  various  advertisements  of  beer  on  the 
white  walls.  There  was  a  long  table  down  the  middle  of 
the  room  and  a  great  many  small  ones.  Most  of  the  latter 
were  empty,  although  two  beside  the  door  were  covered 
with  steaks  and  eggs  and  coffee  and  rolls.  One  man,  who 
had  evidently  finished,  had  swung  his  chair  about,  tipped 
it  against  the  wall,  and  was  addressing  a  political  mono 
logue  to  his  toothpick. 

Gwynne  led  Isabel  to  a  table  in  a  corner  by  a  window, 
and  indicated  the  company  occupying  more  than  half  of 
the  long  table. 

"s  Busted/  was  the  word  they  used,  and  I  cannot  think 
of  a  better  one  to  describe  them.  I  talked  with  the  men 
in  the  bar,  and  later  wandered  into  the  parlor  where  the 

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ANCESTORS 

women  were,  some  tearful,  others  indignant.  One  had  an 
infant,  and  there  were  several  small  children  running 
about,  although  it  was  midnight.  The  soubrette  was 
chewing  gum  and  anathematizing  Rosewater  as  the  '  jayest 
town  on  the  slope,'  and  others  were  calling  for  the  blood 
of  the  manager,  who  had  absconded  with  the  receipts  of 
an  unprofitable  week.  They  interested  me,  as  all  your 
weird  specimens  do,  and  I  found  them  a  surprisingly 
decent  lot,  considering  that  it  is  the  cheapest  sort  of  a 
vaudeville  troupe.  That  poor  little  woman  with  the 
red  eyes  and  the  parti-colored  hair  is  the  mother  of  the 
infant.  1  saw  one  of  the  children  carrying  it  about  the 
hall  as  I  left  my  room.  She  wears  spangled  tights — she 
told  me  with  a  lively  regret  at  the  prospect  of  pawning 
them — and  shoots  balls  from  the  head  of  that  young  man 
that  looks  like  a  parson.  And  the  soubrette — all  my  ideals 
are  shattered!  Look  at  her." 

The  soubrette  had  a  lank  young  body  neatly  attired  in  a 
store  suit  and  shirt-waist.  Her  face  was  sallow  and  her 
black  hair  as  lank  as  her  body,  but  her  eyes  were  keen 
and  bright,  and  she  was  indisputably  respectable.  She 
was  drinking  her  coffee  with  both  elbows  on  the  table  and 
listening  with  a  sort  of  indifferent  sympathy  to  an  elderly 
untidy  woman  who  was  sniffling. 

"Drop  it,"  she  shot  out,  finally.  "'Tain't  worth  it. 
The  landlord's  given  us  a  free  breakfast,  anyhow,  and  it's 
more'n  most  of 'em  does.  We'll  get  back  to  'Frisco  some 
how,  and  will  run  into  Jake  first  thing.  I'll  give  him  a 
slice  of  my  mind  right  in  the  thickest  of  the  Tenderloin. 
You  just  shut  up  and  be  thankful  you  ain't  got  no  kids." 

"She  is  positively  discouraging,"  said  Gwynne,  as  he  at 
tacked  his  excellent  breakfast.  "I  thought  that  the  frozen 

213 


ANCESTORS 

surface  of  the  American  woman  thawed  on  the  stratum 
soubrette." 

"The  class  is  not  always  remarkable  for  its  asceticism," 
said  Isabel,  dryly.  "I  often  lunch  here,  and  see  many 
varieties.  The  leading  lady  is  generally  a  large  voluptuous 
person  with  a  head  like  a  hay-stack  seen  through  the  wrong 
end  of  an  opera-glass,  and  some  of  the  soubrettes  are  all 
hats  and  eyes  and  wriggling  grace.  The  men  are  what 
we  call  'tough,'  which  is  not  exactly  what  you  mean  by 
'toff.'  Occasionally,  however,  there  are  the  most  respect 
able  family  parties,  including  the  children  whom  they 
won't  be  parted  from.  We  have  three  places  of  amuse 
ment,  including  quite  a  fine  opera-house,  so  they  do  very 
well,  as  a  rule.  Was  it  your  sympathy  that  kept  you 
awake  ?" 

"I  am  not  an  ass.  But  they  were  in  and  out  of  one 
another's  rooms  all  night,  and  of  course  the  baby  cried. 
Then  my  room  was  over  the  bar — well,  what  will  you  ? 
Such  is  life.  I  am  sorry  you  cannot  eat  another  breakfast. 
This  seems  to  be  the  land  of  good  cooking.  If  I  did  not 
scorn  to  be  unoriginal  I  should  dilate  upon  the  pie  and 
doughnuts  I  had  for  breakfast  on  the  other  side  of  your 
continent." 

He  seemed  still  light  of  heart  at  the  sudden  end  to  his 
wanderings  and  isolation,  and  they  forgot  the  troupe  and 
chatted  about  his  ranch.  He  had  much  to  ask  and  his 
sponsor  more  to  tell. 

The  theatrical  party  appeared  to  finish  their  breakfast 
simultaneously.  Three,  including  the  soubrette,  reached 
under  the  table,  dislodged  the  morsel  of  gum  they  had 
mechanically  attached  to  the  under  side  of  the  board, 
closed  on  it  with  a  snap,  and  filed  out.  Most  of  them 

214 


ANCESTORS 

looked  quite  cheerful.  Several  bowed  to  Gwynne.  The 
soubrette  gave  him  a  haughty  suspicious  nod. 

"She  looked  at  me  like  that  last  night,"  said  Gwynne, 
complainingly.  "What  designs  does  she  attribute  to  me  ? 
I  never  treated  any  one  with  more  respect." 

"They  are  all  like  that  when  they  are  respectable. 
Their  fierce  Americanism  resents  any  hint  of  patronage. 
Later  on  they  invite  it.  You  will  find  these  waitresses — • 
the  class,  as  a  rule,  is  thoroughly  decent — much  the  same 
in  manner." 

Two  girls,  white  clad,  their  extended  arms  loaded  with 
dishes,  were  stalking  about  the  room,  anaemic,  disdainful. 
A  portly  woman,  whom  Isabel  knew  to  be  the  mother  of  a 
brood,  was  far  more  anxious  to  please.  She  came  up  to 
the  table  in  the  corner  and  asked  Gwynne  affably  if  his 
coffee  was  "all  right."  and  if  he  was  a  stranger  in  "  these 
parts."  He  wras  under  Isabel's  amused  eye,  but  he  ac 
quitted  himself  with  credit;  and  when  he  rose  from  the 
table  she  thanked  him  indifferently  for  his  tip,  but  her 
eyes  glowed  softly.  It  was  rarely  thought  worth  while  to 
tip  a  mere  waitress. 


A)  they  rode  slowly  down  the  hill  towards  Main  Street 
Gwynne  examined  his  cousin  from  head  to  foot,  but, 
he  prided  himself,  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  She  wore 
a  dust-colored  habit  with  divided  skirt,  and  a  soft  felt  hat 
and  gloves  of  the  same  shade.  Her  horse  was  a  very  light 
chestnut,  and  he  was  obliged  to  confess  that  the  effect 
was  harmonious,  although  this  Western  style  of  riding  by 
no  means  pleased  his  fastidious  taste. 

Isabel  shot  him  an  amused  glance.  "You  don't  ap 
prove  of  women  riding  astride,"  she  said.  "We  invented 
it,  although  it  is  now  the  fashion  in  many  other  parts  of 
America.  Necessity  is  the  mother  of  most  fashions.  Wait 
till  you  see  our  mountain  roads.  They  are  a  disgrace  to 
civilization — so  broken  and  narrow  that  even  in  summer 
it  is  dangerous  for  a  woman  to  ride  a  side-saddle,  and  in 
winter  impossible.  I  have  forgotten  how,  and  that  is 
the  reason  I  never  rode  in  England.  .  .  .  Here  is  the  centre 
of  your  existence  for  several  years  to  come.  Main  Street 
is  to  this  section  of  the  country  what  Wall  Street  is  to  the 
United  States." 

They  had  entered  a  street  that  turned  abruptly  in  from 
the  country  a  block  below  them,  and  rose  gently  for  several 
hundred  yards,  when  it  straggled  unevenly  along  a  higher 
level,  to  melt  into  the  older  residence  district  and  then  out 
into  the  open  country  again.  There  was  nothing  quite  like 

216 


ANCESTORS 

this  Main  Street  in  California.  At  its  southern  end  was 
a  long  double  hitching-rail — as  old  as  the  State — already 
flanked  by  several  dusty  wagons  and  big  strong  horses. 
The  long  unbroken  block  had  as  many  and  as  various 
stores  as  are  generally  spread  over  the  entire  area  of  a  town. 
Jammed  against  one  another  like  cabins  opening  out  of  a 
steamer's  gangway,  and  yet  of  no  mean  size,  were  banks 
and  saloons;  stores  for  chicken  feed,  groceries,  fruit,  candy, 
jewelry,  clothing,  hats,  fancy  goods,  stationery;  and  five 
drug  stores  with  tiled  floors.  Many  of  the  windows  made 
a  brave  display  that  would  not  have  disgraced  San  Fran 
cisco.  The  entire  west  pavement  was  roofed,  making  a 
promenade  like  a  ship's  deck  against  rain  or  the  severities 
of  summer;  and  from  this  roof  depended  an  extraordinary 
number  of  signs,  often  eccentric  of  color  and  design. 
Above  the  buildings  of  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  rose 
the  spars  of  several  fishing-boats;  the  creek  finished  at 
Rosewater.  Gwynne  glanced  about  him  with  an  interest 
that  nothing  else  Californian  save  the  Mission  and  San 
Francisco  had  inspired.  Here  was  a  bit  of  a  civilization 
of  a  building  era,  that  was  almost  old,  everything  being 
relative.  At  all  events  it  was  old  -  fashioned.  It  was 
thoroughly  countrified  and  yet  suggestive  of  the  concen 
trated  activities  of  a  city.  Isabel,  after  leaving  the  hotel 
had  made  a  detour,  giving  him  a  brief  glimpse  of  the 
town.  On  the  higher  streets — Rosewater  lay  on  a  cluster 
of  gentle  hills — between  Main  Street  and  the  "residence" 
district,  he  had  noticed  several  modern  buildings  of  brick 
or  stone:  offices,  churches,  school-houses,  a  solid  little 
opera-house  of  colonial  design,  a  fine  City  Hall,  and  one 
of  those  forlorn  "Carnegie  Libraries"  in  a  state  of  arrested 
development  for  want  of  funds,  but  with  an  imposing 

217 


ANCESTORS 

fa£ade  and  the  name  of  the  "donor"  conspicuously  ad 
vertised.  All  this  had  interested  him  little,  although  he 
had  thought  the  town  on  its  slopes  looked  very  pretty  and 

quiet;  but  this the  word  "pioneer"  suddenly  came  to 

him,  and  he  looked  up  and  down  with  a  keenness  of  in 
terest  that  was  almost  like  a  reviving  memory.  This  be 
yond  question  was  a  remnant  of  the  old  thing,  and  here, 
no  doubt,  the  great-grandfather  whose  first  name  he  had 
forgotten,  had  been  a  familiar  sight;  his  fortune  and  en 
terprise  had  helped  to  lay  the  very  foundations  of  this  land 
mark  of  a  wild  and  stirring  time. Then  they  rode  past 

a  square  park  high  on  a  terrace,  walled  up  with  stone  most 
modernly,  the  green  shaded  with  pines  and  palms,  acacia 
and  oaks;  and  the  dream  passed.  At  the  same  moment 
he  became  aware  that  his  partner  was  talking. 

"Rosewater  is  the  financial  and  trading  centre  of  an 
immense  farming  district.  There  are  four  banks,  as  solid 
as  the  best  in  the  world.  Three  are  as  old  as  American 
California.  The  farmers  come  in  daily  for  feed  and  sup 
plies,  the  chicken-ranchers  with  their  produce  for  the  San 
Francisco  buyers,  and  eggs  for  the  great  hatcheries.  Many, 
like  myself,  find  the  last  less  trouble  and  expense  than 
bothering  with  incubators.  Something  like  four  thousand 
dollars  change  hands  daily  in  Rosewater,  and  it  has  less 
than  five  thousand  inhabitants." 

Having  parted  with  her  information  she  relapsed  into 
silence,  and,  the  town  lying  behind  them,  he  transferred 
his  attention  to  her.  She  looked  severe,  remote  again,  and 
he  wondered  if  she  would  grow  quite  hard  and  business 
like  in  time.  In  the  hotel  office  as  he  paid  his  bill  he  had 
overheard  one  man  say  to  another  that  she  was  "as  good 
as  the  best,  and  no  man  could  get  ahead  of  her."  In  this 

218 


ANCESTORS 

sexless  get-up  and  with  her  features  set  she  looked  hardly 
a  woman.  She  certainly  had  capacities  for  good-fellow 
ship,  and  yesterday  she  had  been  almost  tender.  He  had 
just  decided  that  he  would  as  soon  marry  a  portrait  of 
George  Washington,  when,  in  response  to  a  light  call  be 
hind  them,  Isabel  wheeled  about  with  the  pink  in  her 
cheeks  and  eyes  wide  with  pleasure.  She  galloped  back 
to  an  approaching  buggy,  in  which  there  was  an  extreme 
ly  pretty  golden-haired  young  woman,  and  as  she  and 
Isabel  simultaneously  alighted  and  flew  into  each  other's 
arms,  Gwynne  also  descended,  prepared  to  raise  his  hat 
when  his  existence  was  recognized.  For  some  moments 
the  girls  talked  a  rapid  duet,  then  Isabel  turned  suddenly 
and  beckoned. 

"This  is  my  oldest  friend,  Anabel — Mrs.  Tom  Colton," 
she  said,  apologetically.  "She  only  returned  last  night — 
just  caught  sight  of  us,  and  followed." 

Gwynne's  disapproval  vanished  as  he  shook  hands  with 
the  blooming  young  matron  and  met  her  bright  laughing 
eyes.  She  was  a  small  imposing  creature  and  received 
him  in  quite  the  grand  manner.  Her  accent  of  America 
was  as  slight  as  Isabel's,  and  she  used  no  slang.  There 
was  about  her  something  of  the  primness  that  charac 
terizes  American  women  in  the  smaller  towns,  but  her 
simple  linen  frock  had  been  cut  by  a  master,  and  she 
looked  so  warm,  so  womanly,  so  hospitable  as  she  wel 
comed  Gwynne  to  Rosewater,  that  he  liked  her  more 
spontaneously  than  he  had  liked  anybody  since  he  crossed 
the  Atlantic,  and  was  almost  enthusiastic  as  he  rode  on 
with  Isabel. 

"Anabel  is  a  perfect  dear,"  said  his  companion,  whose 
eyes  and  cheeks  were  still  glowing,  and  who  looked  like  a 
14  219 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

mere  girl.  "I  am  much  fonder  of  her  than  I  am  of  Paulas 
although  we  haven't  a  thing  in  common.  She  was  domes 
tic  and  wild  about  children  before  she  was  done  with 
dolls.  Of  course  she  married  at  once.  When  we  were 
at  the  High  School  together  she  regarded  my  ambition 
to  be  first  as  a  standing  joke,  and  has  never  read  anything 
heavier  than  a  classic  novel  in  her  life.  Why  I  am  so 
fond  of  her  I  can't  say,  unless  it  is  that  she  is  absolutely 
genuine,  arid  that  counts  more  in  the  long-run  than  any 
thing  else.  Besides,  she  was  my  first  friend  when  I  came 
here  as  a  little  girl.  Her  mother — Mrs.  Leslie — belongs 
to  one  of  the  old  San  Francisco  families,  and  had  always 
known  my  mother.  I  love  her  as  much  as  ever,  but  I 
am  bound  to  confess  that  I  have  missed  her  little.  I 
suppose  complete  happiness  comes  when  you  miss  no 
body." 

They  rode  on  in  silence,  for  the  heat  was  increasing  and 
the  dust  lay  thick  on  the  road  and  swirled  about  their 
heads.  There  had  been  no  rain  since  March,  and  the 
sea  that  sent  its  daily  fogs  and  breezes  to  cool  San  Fran 
cisco  and  the  towns  about  the  bay  was  forty  miles  from 
Rosewater. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Isabel,  as  Gwynne  mopped  his 
brow  for  the  third  time  and  ostentatiously  rubbed  his 
face.  "The  nights  are  cool  and  the  hot  weather  will  soon 
moderate  down  into  the  mellowness  of  October.  When 
the  rains  come — well  it  is  a  toss  up,  which  is  worse — the 
dust  or  the  mud." 

"Heavens  knows  what  we  have  swallowed,"  muttered 
Gwynne,  who  had  served  on  sanitary  boards  and  heard 
much  talk  of  germs.  But  Isabel  only  laughed  and  told 
him  to  go  to  Anabel,  who  had  a  nostrum  for  every  ill, 

220 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

A  moment  later  the  road  led  up  a  hill-side,  and  at  the  sum 
mit  she  caught  his  bridle  and  reined  in. 

"  I  brought  you  this  roundabout  way  on  purpose,"  she 
said.  "  Is  it  not  what  the  poet  would  call  a  fair  domain  ?" 

Below  them  was  a  vast  flat  expanse  bounded  opposite 
by  a  mountain  chain,  that  rose  abruptly  from  the  level, 
breaking  into  much  irregularity  of  surface  above,  but  all 
its  hollows  blurred  with  woods.  Beyond  a  dip  rose,  far 
in  the  distance,  a  huge  crouching  formidable  mass — St. 
Helena,  named  after  a  Russian  princess,  the  wife  of  the 
last  of  the  Russian  governors  of  northern  California. 
On  the  plain  were  golden  fields,  orchards,  compact  masses 
of  the  eucalyptus-tree  planted  as  shelters  for  the  cattle  in 
time  of  storm  or  unbearable  heat.  Many  cattle  were 
roaming  about;  on  the  grazing  land  in  the  far  distance 
towards  the  town  of  St.  Peter — a  mere  white  cluster  in 
the  north  at  the  base  of  the  range — were  the  horses.  Over 
the  mountains  lay  a  shimmering  haze,  blue  or  pink;  it 
was  difficult  to  define  whether  the  colors  flowed  through 
each  other  or  subtly  united. 

"It  is  all  yours,"  added  Isabel,  emerging  from  the  role 
of  the  mere  cicerone.  "Are  you  not  proud  of  it?" 

Gwynne  did  in  truth  dilate,  but  hastily  assured  himself 
that  it  was  at  the  beauty  of  his  estate,  not  at  its  paltry 
nineteen  thousand  acres.  Had  he  not  shot  over  many  an 
estate  as  large  ?  Had  not  his  grandfather  come  into  four 
times  that  number  ?  True,  most  of  them  had  not  been 
entailed,  and  this  at  least  was  his,  his  own.  He  quite 
realized  it  for  the  first  time;  even  as  a  source  of  income  he 
had  barely  given  it  a  thought;  even  after  Isabel's  descrip 
tions  he  had  never  exerted  himself  to  picture  it.  As  a 
resource  in  his  crisis  it  was  all  very  well,  but  not  worth 

221 


ANCESTORS 

while  shaping  into  concrete  form  until  he  could  avoid  it 
no  longer. 

But  now,  as  he  gazed  down  and  over  the  great  beautiful 
expanse — for  even  the  mountain-side  and  much  beyond 
was  his — he  felt  a  sudden  passionate  gratitude  to  that 
Otis  whose  first  name  he  had  forgotten,  pride  fairly  in 
vaded  his  chest;  then,  as  he  realized  that  it  was  visibly 
swelling  under  Isabel's  intent  gaze,  he  blushed,  laughed 
confusedly,  turned  away  his  head.  But  his  annoyance 
was  routed  by  a  speechless  amazement,  for  Isabel  suddenly 
flung  both  arms  round  his  neck  and  gave  him  a  hearty  kiss, 

"There!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  never  really  liked  you 
before,  though  I  never  denied  you  were  interesting  enough. 
Men  are  nothing  but  overgrown  boys,  only  some  are  nice 
and  some  are  not.  You  are.  I'll  really  adopt  you  now, 
instead  of  merely  doing  my  bounden  duty.  Now  look  at 
those  mountains  in  the  south." 

More  disturbed  than  he  would  have  believed  possible 
at  the  young  warmth  and  magnetism  of  her  embrace — 
although  it  was  disconcertingly  evident  that  she  would 
have  kissed  a  small  boy  in  precisely  the  same  manner — he 
composed  his  features  to  indifference  and  followed  the 
motion  of  her  whip. 

In  the  dim  perspective  of  the  south  she  indicated 
Tamalpais  and  Monte  Diablo  opposite,  vague  dim  blue 
masses  behind  San  Francisco.  "Monte  Diablo  and  St. 
Helena  are  both  old  volcanoes,"  she  continued.  "I  never 
say  dead  volcanoes  after  the  history  and  performances  of 
Vesuvius  and  Pelee.  I  wish  one  of  our  volcanoes  would 
liven  up.  We  might  have  fewer  earthquakes — although, 
to  be  sure,  ours  are  supposed  to  be  caused  by  faulting — 
in  so  far  as  they  know  anything  about  it." 

222 


ANCESTORS 

"Do  you  think  of  nothing  but  earthquakes  out  here? 
You  have  made  at  least  three  casual  allusions  since  we 
met  twenty-four  hours  ago,  and  in  southern  California 
they  are  a  part  of  every  tradition." 

"If  you  had  been  brought  up  on  earthquakes  they  would 
never  be  far  from  your  own  mind.  There  is  a  theory 
that  the  reason  for  Californians  taking  everything  as  it 
comes  with  a  happy-go-lucky  philosophy,  lies  in  the 
electrical  air  and  the  eight  months  of  sunshine;  but  I 
believe  it  is  due  even  more  to  the  earthquakes.  If  we 
can  stand  those  we  can  stand  anything.  It  is  in  tune  with 
the  old  gambling  spirit  that  still  colors  the  country;  no 
doubt  has  kept  it  alive.  We  never  know  what  is  going 
to  happen  next,  and  we  don't  care.  Vive  la  bagatelle. 
We  have  more  to  be  thankful  for  than  the  rest  of  the  world, 
anyhow.  Well,  let  us  go  down  to  the  house." 

The  house  with  its  out-buildings  stood  below  them  on  a 
high  knoll,  three  sides  surrounded  by  a  grove  of  white 
oaks,  the  other  open  to  the  mountains,  although  the 
front  veranda  was  shaded  by  several  spreading  trees,  far 
apart.  The  large  soft  leaves  and  the  pendent  moss  of 
the  oaks  were  gray  with  dust,  but  the  shade  was  cool  and 
delicious.  Down  in  the  valley  an  old  comrade  here  and 
there  helped  to  tell  the  story  of  the  time  when  all  these 
miles  of  valley  and  mountain  were  unbroken  forest,  known 
only  to  the  red  man.  And  that  was  not  a  century  ago. 

The  house  was  frankly  ugly,  like  all  the  farm-houses  of 
its  erar  although  vastly  to  be  preferred  to  the  "artistic" 
structures  succeeding  them.  As  the  couple  gave  up  their 
horses  to  a  stately  Jap,  who  had  been  engaged  by  Isabel 
as  butler,  chambermaid,  valet,  and  footman,  and  entered 
the  large  living-room,  Gwynne  generously  gave  voice  to 

223 


ANCESTORS 

his  approval.  There  were  books  to  the  ceiling,  easy- 
chairs,  the  photographs  of  friends  that  had  decorated  his 
rooms  in  London  and  Capheaton.  His  eyes  contracted 
as  he  saw  a  pile  of  London  newspapers  on  the  table, 
and  he  turned  away  hastily  and  remarked  that  he  was 
glad  the  fittings  were  red,  as  it  would  be  more  com 
panionable  in  winter;  the  rest  of  the  year  he  should  live 
out-of-doors.  The  veranda,  which  surrounded  the  house, 
was  quite  wide  enough  to  live  on,  and  below  it  was  a 
border  of  garden  full  of  old-fashioned  flowers.  The  bed 
rooms,  gayly  furbished  with  chintz  and  matting,  were 
up-stairs. 

"I  didn't  think  it  worth  while  to  furnish  a  dining-room," 
said  Isabel  as  they  returned  to  the  lower  floor.  "It  has 
always  been  the  custom  to  eat  at  the  end  of  the  living-room 
— when  they  didn't  eat  in  the  kitchen.  And  what  more 
dreary  than  to  take  your  meals  in  a  big  country  dining- 
room  by  yourself!  All  the  rooms  here  are  large." 

She  took  him  into  the  kitchen  and  introduced  him  to  his 
cook,  a  stout  Mexican  woman,  who  received  him  with 
excessive  dignity,  and  wore  nothing  but  a  single  calico 
garment  open  to  the  chest.  Then  they  mounted  their 
horses  again  and  Isabel  escorted  him  down  to  the  great 
hay-barns,  the  dairy,  and  cattle-sheds,  introducing  him  to 
his  hired  men,  who  looked  him  over  frankly,  but,  somewhat 
to  his  surprise,  addressed  him  as  "sir."  He  commented 
upon  the  unexpected  deference  as  they  rode  back  to  the 
house. 

"Oh,  these  country  folk  are  naturally  polite,"  said 
Isabel,  dryly.  "They  are  not  yet  entirely  corrupted  by 
the  yellow  press,  although  independent  enough,  as  you 
will  discover.  Tact  will  manage  any  one.  I  have  been 

224 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

managing  people  all  my  life,  and  have  prepared  this  force 
to  like  you.  Now  I  must  be  off.  I  am  to  lunch  with 
Anabel." 

"You  are  not  going  to  leave  me!"  cried  Gwynne,  in 
dismay. 

"The  tragic  moment  must  come  sooner  or  later,"  she 
said,  gayly.  "And  you  have  forgotten  your  mail.  It  is 
somewhere  under  all  those  newspapers.  I'll  ride  out  in  a 
day  or  two  and  see  how  you  are  getting  on." 

She  gave  him  a  cavalier  little  nod,  touched  her  horse 
with  the  whip,  and  a  moment  later  was  lost  in  a  cloud  of 
dust.  Gwynne,  angry  and  disappointed,  looked  after  her 
a  moment,  then  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went  in  to  his 
mail. 


VI 


MRS.  TOM  COLTON  lived  on  one  of  the  higher 
slopes  of  Rosewater  in  a  charming  little  double  house 
all  brown  shingles  and  big  chimneys.  Opposite  was  the 
paternal  mansion  on  a  high  terrace,  a  modern  Renaissance 
structure,  painted  white  and  shaded  with  gigantic  palms 
and  acacias.  There  was  a  porte-cochere  but  no  balcony. 

All  the  "residences"  of  this  quarter  were  modern  and 
"artistic,"  even  the  cottages;  it  was  only  on  the  lower 
slopes,  close  to  the  nucleus  of  the  town,  that  the  many 
old-fashioned  structures  were  but  occasionally  thrown  out 
of  tune  by  a  pile  of  shingles  and  stone.  But  all  had  gar 
dens,  and  there  were  several  squares  whence  the  streets 
radiated  with  as  puzzling  an  irregularity  as  London's  own, 
but  set  thick  with  shade  trees  tropical  and  boreal.  On 
the  high  rim  of  the  hills  enclosing  the  town  were  many 
small  farms,  and  all  were  white  with  the  Leghorn  that 
laid  the  golden  eggs.  These  looked  like  a  light  fall  of 
snow  on  the  sunburned  hills,  and  were  as  refreshing  as 
the  garden  trees  upon  which  the  hose  played  night  and 
morning. 

As  Isabel  left  her  horse  at  a  livery-stable  and  walked  up 
the  wide  clean  boulevard  towards  her  friend's  house,  she 
met  no  one  on  the  glaring  pavements,  although  here 
and  there  a  buggy  was  hitched,  and  a  patient  horse  stood 
with  his  fore  feet  on  the  line  of  grass  beside  the  concrete, 

226 


ANCESTORS 

his  head  under  a  tree,  and  his  eyes  fixed  expectantly  upon 
the  door  of  the  house.  Indeed  one  might  walk  here  at 
almost  any  hour  of  the  day  and  rarely  meet  another;  all 
the  energies  were  concentrated  in  Main  Street,  although  it 
was  the  town's  standing  grievance  that  it  was  not  the 
county-seat  with  a  court-house  that  should  make  the 
pretensions  of  St.  Peter  ridiculous.  No  small  part  of 
those  energies  in  the  business  district  were  devoted  to 
humbling  the  rival,  in  the  matter  of  commerce.  St. 
Peter  retaliated  with  the  accent  of  a  fierce  contempt. 
"Chickenville!"  "The  Eggopolis!"  quoth  the  local  wits, 
and  who  shall  say  that  the  darts  did  not  quiver  and  sting, 
although  the  more  flourishing  community  never  lowered 
its  self-satisfied  front  ?  Even  the  rich  banker  families 
were  not  at  the  trouble  to  put  on  airs.  They  did  not 
possess  a  handsome  turnout  between  them,  and  as  for 
dress  there  were  few  that  did  more  than  keep  themselves 
cool  in  summer  and  warm  in  winter.  It  was  true  that 
Mr.  Boutts  possessed  a  runabout  automobile  in  which  he 
bumped  his  family  to  San  Francisco  occasionally,  but  he 
was  of  the  newer  gentry  and  owed  his  social  pre-eminence 
to  his  wife  and  pretty  daughter,  and  to  his  conversion  from 
the  Congregational  to  the  Episcopal  Church. 

Isabel,  of  course,  was  a  conspicuous  member  of  the 
ancient  aristocracy,  by  virtue  of  her  forefathers  having 
owned  half  the  county  when  the  smoke  still  rose  from  the 
wigwam;  and  although  Mrs.  James  Otis  had  maintained  a 
haughty  aloofness  on  her  husband's  ranch  in  summer,  and 
later  in  a  Rosewater  cottage,  her  neighbors  thought  none 
the  less  of  her  for  that,  and  Isabel,  after  school  hours, 
played  with  their  children.  Later,  even  the  transgressions 
of  her  father,  and  her  unchaperoned  trip  to  Europe,  left 

227 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

her    position   secure.      An   Otis  was    an   Otis.      Noblesse 
oblige.     Aristocracies  are  aristocracies  the  world  over. 

Mrs.  Tom  saw  Isabel  coming  and  opened  the  door 
herself;  then  as  lunch  would  not  be  ready  for  an  hour, 
led  her  up  to  her  large  sunny  bedroom,  where  her  three 
children,  pretty  fragile  creatures  in  spite  of  their  tan, 
sweet-fed  and  spoiled,  were  playing  on  the  floor.  Isabel 
tossed  and  kissed  them,  presenting  them  with  a  box  of  toys 
she  had  bought  in  Main  Street.  Then  she  sat  down  with 
Anabel  in  the  window  to  have  a  long  talk.  But  she  quick 
ly  discovered  that  Anabel  talked  with  one  wing  of  her  brain, 
so  to  speak,  and  her  roving  gaze  beamed  constantly  at  the 
noisy  brood  on  the  floor.  Complacency,  maternity,  hap 
piness,  radiated  from  all  her  sweet  womanly  little  person, 
but  in  half  an  hour  Isabel  was  casting  about  for  an  excuse 
to  leave  directly  after  luncheon,  although  she  had  promised 
to  spend  the  day.  As  Anabel  babbled  on,  while  embroid 
ering  a  little  frock,  relating  anecdotes  of  her  marvellous 
children,  commenting  upon  the  increasing  extortions  of 
the  labor  class,  the  iniquities  of  servants,  the  mounting 
of  prices  in  California,  and  the  shocking  mania  for  cards 
that  possessed  Rosewater  in  common  with  the  rest  of 
the  world,  there  stole  over  Isabel  a  feeling  of  intolerable 
ennui.  She  had  felt  it  often  enough  in  her  sister's  uneven 
domestic  atmosphere,  and  now  and  again  in  more  regulated 
interiors,  but  never  had  the  wings  of  her  spirit  beaten  so 
furiously  as  in  this  happy  home  of  the  most  beloved  of  her 
friends.  The  wave  ebbed  when  the  nurse  came  and 
carried  off  the  protesting  trio,  and  as  she  sat  with  Anabel 
in  the  beautiful  little  dining-room  panelled  and  furnished 
with  redwood,  highly  polished,  the  table  set  with  silver  and 
crystal,  the  dainty  meal  beyond  criticism  and  served  by  a 

228 


ANCESTORS 

noiseless  Chinaman,  she  was  able  to  feel  grateful  that 
Anabel  was  as  happy  in  her  way  as  herself  in  her  own, 
and  praised  everything  with  such  warmth  that  the  placid 
little  lady  waxed  radiant.  Mrs.  Tom  was  very  golden- 
haired  and  blue-eyed  and  pink  and  white,  but  none  was 
further  removed  from  insipidity  than  she.  Her  features 
were  strong,  particularly  hei  mouth  and  chin,  and  she 
had  a  repose  of  manner,  a  squareness  of  shoulder,  and  a 
serenity  of  expression  that  gave  her  an  almost  solid  ap 
pearance.  It  was  patent  that  she  was  making  a  suc 
cess  of  her  life,  and  Isabel  kissed  her  at  parting  with  a 
hearty  good-will;  but  only  the  excessive  dignity  inherited 
from  her  Spanish  ancestors  arrested  a  war-whoop  as 
she  almost  ran  down  the  hill.  She  had  been  detained 
until  five  o'clock  in  spite  of  ingenious  excuses,  and  when 
she  mounted  her  horse  she  galloped  for  the  country  at 
such  a  rate  of  speed  that  the  drowsy  town  turned  over. 
When  she  reached  a  long  and  lonely  stretch  of  road  she 
indulged  herself  in  snatches  of  Spanish  songs,  and  when 
she  was  at  home  she  did  not  go  to  bed  till  near  midnight, 
so  happy  was  she  in  the  contemplation  of  her  solitude. 


VII 


G WYNNE  found  few  letters  awaiting  him;  he  had  not 
encouraged  correspondence,  and  only  his  mother, 
Flora  Thangue,  and  his  solicitors  knew  his  address.  It 
had  been  announced  and  reiterated  in  London  that  he 
was  making  a  tour  of  the  world.  During  the  first  month 
of  his  absence  Lady  Victoria  had  sent  him  a  large  bundle 
of  clippings  from  newspapers,  some  acid  in  comment  upon 
his  obvious  intention  of  neglecting  his  duties  as  a  peer 
of  the  realm,  his  fruitless  exposure  of  a  chagrin  at  an 
elevation  in  which  he  would  find  more  and  more  consola 
tion  as  time  went  on.  A  few  were  sympathetic.  Others 
went  so  far  as  to  indicate  a  program  in  which  he  might 
serve  his  country  with  modesty,  if  not  with  the  scintilla 
tions  of  the  free-lance;  and  reminded  him  that  peers  had 
risen  to  the  post  of  prime-minister  ere  this,  of  viceroy,  lord- 
lieutenant,  governor-general,  and  ambassador.  Then,  ap 
parently,  they  dismissed  him.  The  fiscal  question  was 
acute.  Dissolution  threatened.  There  were  bright  par 
ticular  stars  still  in  both  parties,  and  the  press  and  public 
had  enough  to  do  with  sitting  in  judgment  upon  their  re 
spective  rays. 

In  the  two  letters  from  his  mother,  written  at  Homburg, 
there  was  no  news  beyond  the  letting  of  the  properties 
and  a  bulletin  of  her  health,  which  promised  an  imminent 
fitness  for  travel.  His  solicitors  wrote  that  the  income 

230 


ANCESTORS 

from  the  two  estates  was  ample  to  keep  the  numerous 
women  of  the  family  in  comfort,  and  leave  a  surplus  which 
should  be  paid  to  his  mother,  according  to  his  directions. 
This,  with  the  southern  ranch  and  the  San  Francisco  prop 
erty,  should  yield  her  an  income  of  two  thousand  five 
hundred  pounds  a  year.  The  confidential  member  of  the 
firm  hinted  that  if  his  lordship  found  means  of  increasing 
her  ladyship's  income  in  that  land  of  gold  and  plenty  it 
would  be  wise  to  do  so,  as  her  ladyship  knew  less  than 
nothing  of  economy  and  was  even  more  deeply  in  debt  than 
usual. 

He  missed  Flora's  gay  letter  of  gossip,  and  looked  with 
narrowing  lids  at  the  pile  of  newspapers.  None  had 
been  sent  him  before,  and  he  had  left  not  a  subscription 
behind  him;  but  it  was  evident  that  his  mother  and  Flora 
were  under  the  mistaken  impression  that  he  would  welcome 
this  greeting  in  his  new  home.  They  had  accumulated 
for  a  month.  He  recognized  the  type  of  the  leading  dailies, 
and  could  guess  the  names  of  the  numerous  illustrated 
weeklies.  Suddenly  he  took  them  in  his  arms  and  walked 
quickly  over  to  the  stove,  his  eye  roving  in  search  of  a 
match-box.  But  even  as  he  stooped  he  rose  again,  and, 
blushing  for  his  weakness,  carried  them  back  to  the  table, 
tore  them  open  with  nervous  haste.  He  skimmed  the 
great  pages  of  the  dailies  from  start  to  finish,  telling  him 
self  that  he  must  have  a  breath  from  home,  news  from 
authoritative  sources,  stated  in  excellent  English;  sick 
ened  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  but  searching 
eagerly  for  a  word  of  himself;  sickening  more  when  he 
found  none.  Then  he  fell  upon  the  weeklies,  his  eye 
glancing  indifferently  from  the  paragraphs  and  present 
ments  of  the  royal  and  the  engaged,  but  scanning  every 

23 * 


ANCESTORS 

personality.     He  had  had  one  rival  and  there  was  much 
of  him. 

Before  he  had  finished  the  third  his  struggling  pride 
conquered.  He  gathered  the  heap  and  flung  it  into  a 
corner,  then  caught  up  his  hat  and  struck  out  for  the 
loneliest  part  of  the  ranch.  He  writhed  in  the  throes  of 
disappointment,  jealousy,  disgust  of  self.  He  attempt 
ed  consolation  by  picturing  all  the  other  ambitious  men 
he  knew  exhibiting  a  similar  weakness  and  vanity  when 
there  was  no  eye  to  see.  His  imagination  did  not  rise 
to  marvellous  feats — and  what  if  it  did  not  ?  He  had 
never  aspired  to  be  in  the  same  class  with  other  men. 

The  bitter  tide  receded  only  to  give  place  to  apprehen 
sion.  His  temperament  was  mercurial,  balanced  by  a 
certain  languor  in  the  earlier  stages  of  emotion,  and  there 
had  been  little  to  depress  his  spirit  during  those  thirty 
years  when  all  the  fairies  had  danced  attendance  on  him; 
even  defeat  had  but  intoxicated  his  fighting  instinct  and 
given  another  excuse  for  flattery  and  encouragement. 
During  the  eleven  months  since  he  had  left  England 
he  had  experienced  neither  encouragement  nor  flattery. 
He  could  not  recall  having  made  a  profound  impression 
upon  any  of  his  casual  acquaintances;  he  certainly  had 
created  no  sensation.  It  was  true  that  his  role  had  been 
that  of  the  listener,  the  student,  but  he  had  so  long  ac 
cepted  himself  as  a  personality,  as  the  most  remarkable 
of  England's  younger  productions,  that  he  had  been  deeply 
mortified  more  than  once  at  the  cavalier  treatment  of 
middle-aged  business  men  with  no  time  to  waste  upon  a 
young  Britisher  of  no  possible  use  to  them. 

To-day  he  boldly  faced  the  haunting  doubt  if  he  were 
really  a  great  man;  if  his  success  in  England,  as  well  as  his 

232 


A       N       C       E S_     TORS 

phenomenal  self-confidence,  had  not  been  merely  the  re 
sult  of  an  inordinate  ambition  fed  by  fortuitous  circum 
stances.  He  recalled  that  from  childhood  his  grandfather 
and  his  mother  had  practically  decreed  that  the  bright, 
lovable,  mischievous  boy  was  to  be  a  great  man;  that  as  he 
grew  older  the  entire  family  connection  joined  the  con 
spiracy.  It  is  easy  enough  to  believe  in  yourself  when  the 
world  believes  in  you,  and  easy  enough  to  make  the  world 
take  you  at  your  own  valuation  when  you  have  a  powerful 
backing,  a  reasonable  amount  of  cleverness,  a  sublime 
audacity,  the  power  of  speech,  and  a  happy  series  of  ac 
cidents.  Were  all  great  men  two-thirds  accidental  or 
manufactured  ?  He  felt  inclined  to  believe  it,  but  while 
it  soothed  his  torn  and  throbbing  pride,  it  by  no  means 
lessened  his  apprehension. 

Was  he  not  a  great  man,  even  so  ?  He  felt  anything  but 
a  great  man  at  the  moment.  He  recalled  that  he  had  in 
dulged  in  few  lapses  into  complacency  since  his  departure 
incognito  from  England,  and  that  he  had  deliberately  held 
self-analysis  at  bay  by  incessant  travel  and  a  compulsory 
interest  in  subjects  that  did  not  appeal  to  him  in  the  least. 
It  was  this  absence  of  interest  after  close  upon  a  year  in 
the  country  that  appalled  him  as  much  as  his  inner  vision- 
ing.  He  hated  the  country.  He  hated  its  politics,  both 
parties  impartially.  He  hated  all  the  questions  that  ab 
sorbed  the  American  mind,  from  graft  to  negroes.  He  had 
sat  in  the  Congressional  galleries  in  Washington,  attended 
political  meetings  wherever  he  could  obtain  admittance, 
studied  the  press  in  even  the  smaller  towns,  travelled 
through  the  South  and  relieved  himself  of  whatever  ab 
stract  sympathy  he  may  have  cherished  for  the  colored 
race,  visited  the  sweat-shops  of  New  York,  the  meat- 

233 


A       N       C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

packing  establishments  of  Chicago,  the  factories  of  New 
England,  every  phase  of  the  great  civilization  he  knew 
of;  and  while  he  found  much  to  admire  and  condemn, 
both  left  him  evenly  indifferent.  With  all  his  soul  he 
longed  for  England.  She  might  have  her  selfishness 
and  her  snobberies,  lingering  taints  in  her  political  system, 
but  she  stood  at  the  apex  of  civilization,  and  her  very 
faults  were  interesting;  far  removed  from  the  brazen 
crudities  of  the  New  World's  struggle  for  wealth  and  power. 
And  although  the  blood  of  reformers  was  in  his  veins,  and 
in  his  secret  soul  he  was  an  idealist  to  the  point  of  knight- 
errantry,  the  desire  for  reform  had  ebbed  out  of  him 
during  his  American  exile.  And  he  knew  the  fate  of  a 
good  many  American  reformers.  There  were  several  in 
high  places  at  present,  cheerfully  trimmed  down  from  the 
statesman  to  the  political  ideal.  Julia  Kaye — clever  wom 
an! — had  put  the  matter  into  an  epigram.  The  Ameri 
can  statesman  was  the  superior  politician. 

And  how  was  he,  out  of  tune  with  every  phase  of  the 
country,  to  find  the  ghost  of  an  opportunity  to  lead  it? 
He  was  no  actor.  If  he  had  a  merit  it  was  sincerity,  a  con^ 
tempt  for  subterfuge  as  beneath  both  his  powers  and  the 
lofty  position  to  which  he  had  been  born.  Moreover,  he 
was  honest;  an  equally  aristocratic  failing  and  drawback. 

He  recalled  a  conversation  he  had  held  in  the  smoking- 
compartment  of  a  Pullman  with  a  sharp  young  politician, 
who  had  become  voluble  after  Gwynne  had  "stood  him" 
two  high-balls. 

"  It's  graft  or  quit,"  he  had  announced.  "  All  this  clean 
ing  up  in  insurance  and  what  not,  all  this  talk  of  curbing 
the  trusts  and  the  rest  of  it  don't  fool  yours  truly  one 
little  bit.  It's  just  the  ins  trying  to  get  ahead  of  the  outs. 

234 


ANCESTOR S 

It's  not  the  honestest  or  the  best  man  that  gets  there  in 
God's  own  country,  but  the  smartest — every  time.  Those 
that  are  crying  the  loudest  against  the  grafters  are  just 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  graft  good  and  hard  themselves. 
I  am,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it.  Only  I  don't  waste 
any  strength  kicking.  The  labor  party  works  itself  up 
over  trusts  and  capitalists,  and  most  of  the  capitalists  come 
out  of  that  factory,  and  are  the  first  to  grind  those  left  be 
hind  them,  under  both  heels.  They  know  what  I  know, 
and  what  you'll  know  before  you  get  through,  that  the 
only  fun  in  life  is  to  be  got  out  of  power  and  money." 

The  face  as  sharp  as  a  razor  but  by  no  means  dishonest 
rose  before  Gwynne.  He  had  been  a  very  decent  little 
chap,  and  in  the  two  days  they  had  travelled  together  he 
had  displayed  a  photograph  of  his  wife  and  "kids,"  to 
whom  he  seemed  even  sentimentally  devoted.  Although 
Gwynne  had  parted  from  the  man  with  satisfaction  it 
was  impossible  to  despise  him  utterly.  Since  then  he  had 
met  many  of  his  kind,  more  or  less  honest,  able,  pettily 
ambitious,  fairly  educated,  unlearned  on  every  subject 
except  politics  and  the  general  business  of  the  country; 
and  all  equally  unsympathetic.  He  made  no  pretence  to 
judge  the  country  on  its  social  or  intellectual  side,  for  he 
had  been  forced  to  avoid  all  groups  that  might  have  en 
lightened  him — although  he  found  no  difficulty  in  assum 
ing  that  well-bred  and  intellectual  people  were  much  the 
same  the  world  over,  and  was  willing  to  give  the  United 
States  the  benefit  of  every  doubt.  But  its  obvious  side  was 
the  one  that  concerned  him  and  his  career.  In  order  to 
succeed — and  without  success  life  would  mean  less  than 
nothing  to  him — must  he  in  a  measure  conform  to  con 
ditions  that  were  the  result  of  a  century  of  complexities  ? 

15  235 


ANCESTORS 

He  recurred  to  the  dry  biographical  sketches  he  had  re 
ceived,  from  certain  of  his  travelling  companions,  of  the 
most  distinguished — and  successful! — men  in  American 
politics  to-day.  Their  ideals  and  their  zeal  for  reform 
had  played  between  horizon  and  zenith  like  a  flaming 
sword,  so  compelling  the  attention  of  all  that  would  pause 
to  look  that  the  diminishing  effulgence  had  been  even  more 
conspicuous;  and  now,  although  the  sword  was  occasion 
ally  brandished  for  form's  sake,  and  was  even  sharper  than 
before,  having  learned  to  cut  both  ways,  it  had  the  rust 
of  tin  not  of  blood  on  it,  and  deceived  no  one.  But  it  had 
served  its  purpose — if  to  be  sure  it  had  been  needed  at  all — 
and  its  owners  were  past-masters  of  success.  Had  he  in 
him  the  makings  of  the  mere  trimmer  and  politician,  in  ad 
dition  to  the  miserable  vanity  that  had  riven  him  to-day  ? 
And  would  some  measure  of  great  success  won  on  those 
lines  stir  the  dormant  greatness  in  him  ? — if  there  were  any 
greatness  to  stir.  This  was  the  fearful  doubt,  after  all, 
that  beset  him.  He  almost  saw  with  his  outer  vision  his 
ideals  lying  in  a  tumbled  heap,  as  he  felt  himself  on  the 
point  of  crying  aloud  that  to  feel  once  more  that  sense  of 
power  which  had  exalted  him  above  mere  mortals,  and 
given  him  an  ecstasy  of  spirit  that  no  other  passion  could 
ever  excite,  he  would  sacrifice  everything,  everything! 

He  paused  abruptly  and  looked  about  him.  He  was 
half-way  up  the  mountain.  The  great  valley,  that  looked  as 
if  it  might  embrace  the  State  itself,  lay  before  him.  North 
and  south  the  scenery  was  magnificent,  ethereal  in  the  dis 
tance,  melting  everywhere  into  one  of  those  lovely  mists  that 
seem  to  have  extracted  the  spiritual  essence  of  all  the 
colors.  But  the  very  beauty  of  his  new  domain  added  to 
the  sense  of  unreality,  of  uneasiness,  that  had  so  often 

236 


A       N      C    _E S_  J_     O       R       S 

possessed  him  since  he  had  crossed  the  borders  of  the 
State.  And  it  was  all  on  such  a  colossal  scale.  There 
could  never  be  anything  friendly,  anything  possessing,  in 
a  land  destined  for  a  race  of  primeval  giants.  He  felt  so 
passionate  a  longing  for  the  sweet  embracing  historied 
landscapes  of  England  that  the  very  violence  of  the  nostal 
gia  drove  him  homeward  with  the  half-formed  intention  of 
taking  the  first  train  for  New  York  and  the  first  steamer 
out  of  it.  Moreover,  he  was  suddenly  obsessed  with  the 
belief  that  if  he  had  greatness  in  him  England  alone  held 
its  magnet. 

But  it  was  a  long  walk  to  his  house,  and  he  reached 
it  late  in  the  afternoon,  very  tired  and  very  hungry. 
When  he  entered  his  comfortable  living-room,  redolent 
of  flowers,  he  received  something  like  a  shock  of  peace, 
and  after  he  had  taken  a  cold  bath,  he  cursed  himself 
roundly  for  permitting  the  mixed  blood  in  his  veins  to 
contrive  at  times  the  temperament  of  an  artist  or  of  some 
women.  As  he  sat  down  to  a  more  than  palatable  sup 
per,  he  felt  thankful  that  he  had  had  it  out  with  himself  so 
early  in  the  engagement,  and  thought  it  odd  if  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  in  him  could  not  drive  rough-shod  over  his  weaker 
outcroppings. 


VIII 


HE  did  not  see  Isabel  again  for  three  weeks.  Several 
days  after  his  arrival  he  received  a  note  from  her, 
briefly  stating  that  she  was  starting  for  Los  Angeles  to  ex 
hibit  her  prize  Favarolles  and  Leghorns  at  a  "Chicken 
show,"  and  after  that  would  pay  a  long  deferred  visit  to  her 
sister.  "But  I  shall  not  be  long,"  she  added,  possibly 
with  a  flicker  of  contrition,  "only  they  have  been  planning 
things  for  me  for  ages  and  I  am  always  putting  them  off. 
I  will  spend  a  week — not  with  them,  exactly,  but  at  their 
disposal,  and  it  will  be  a  relief  to  have  it  over." 

Gwynne  felt  himself  ill-treated,  but  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  with  a  new  philosophy  not  all  doggedness,  and  easily 
stretched  to  embrace  the  vagaries  of  woman.  And,  in 
truth,  he  found  an  abundance  of  occupation.  Ascertain 
ing  that  Mr.  Leslie  was  away,  he  spent  his  time  on  the 
ranch,  examining  its  various  yields,  divisions,  possibilities; 
to  say  nothing  of  its  books  and  history.  The  dairy  was 
now  an  insignificant  affair,  experiments  having  proved 
disastrous,  and  his  superintendent  advised  him  to  let  it 
remain  so.  The  greatest  yield  was  in  hay,  and  cattle  raised 
for  the  market.  The  last  lessee  had  come  to  grief  over 
blood  horses,  and  Gwynne's  agents  had  accepted  what  re 
mained  of  the  racers  and  breeders  in  default  of  apocryphal 
cash.  Although  advised  that  they  could  be  sold  to  ad 
vantage  if  haste  were  not  imperative,  Gwynne,  who  had 

238 


ANCESTORS 

a  large  balance  in  the  bank,  determined  to  continue  the 
experiment.  Many  acres  of  the  ranch  were  profitably 
let,  although  by  the  month  only,  as  pasture  both  for  cows 
and  horses.  The  orchards  always  made  a  handsome 
yield,  and  the  vegetable  garden  and  strawberry  beds  need 
ed  only  proper  care  to  became  remunerative.  Moreover, 
several  acres  had  recently  been  planted  with  kale,  a 
favorite  food  of  the  conquering  Leghorn,  and  there  were 
fine  runs  on  the  hills  that  might  be  fenced  off  for  sheep — 
or  chickens;  but  at  this  point  the  superintendent  always 
detected  something  even  defiant  in  his  employer's  cold  in 
difference,  and  told  his  friends  that  the  Englishman  was 
"haughty  in  spots." 

It  was  all  very  satisfactory,  but  in  order  to  bring  him 
a  really  considerable  increase  of  income  he  must  dismiss 
his  superintendent — who  now  drew  a  salary  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  a  month,  and  who  did  not  inspire  him 
with  unbounded  trust — and  become  his  own  manager,  an 
office  which  would  not  only  make  heavy  demands  upon  his 
time,  turning  him  virtually  into  a  farmer,  with  little  leisure 
for  the  reading  and  practice  of  law,  but  no  doubt  involve 
the  sacrifice  of  money  as  well;  he  did  not  flatter  himself 
that  he  could  learn  to  "run"  a  ranch  of  nineteen  thousand 
varied  acres  in  a  season.  His  superintendent  was  a  half- 
breed  Mexican,  the  son  of  his  cook,  quick,  voluble,  and 
experienced  in  the  ways  of  the  ranch,  upon  which  he  had 
worked  since  boyhood.  Gwynne  had  called  on  Mr.  Col- 
ton  at  the  bank  two  days  after  his  arrival,  and  the  old 
gentleman,  who  had  an  eye  like  a  gimlet  and  a  mouth  like 
a  steel  trap,  had  consigned  all  "greasers"  to  subterranean 
fires,  and  emphasized  the  fact  that  he  had  hired  Carlos 
Smith  by  the  month  only.  A  better  man  would  demand 

239 


ANCESTORS 

a  year's  contract.  There  were  infinite  possibilities  for 
"the  greaser"  to  pocket  a  goodly  share  of  the  profits,  and 
"cover  up  his  tracks."  And  it  might  be  a  year  or  two  be 
fore  a  superintendent  could  be  found  capable  in  every  way 
of  managing  so  complicated  a  ranch. 

While  he  was  still  revolving  the  problem  he  met  Mr. 
Leslie  and  Tom  Colton,  who  advised  him  to  sell  at  least 
half  the  ranch  to  small  farmers.  Properties  of  four  and 
five  acres  were  in  increasing  demand  in  this  fertile  county, 
and  equally  difficult  to  obtain.  He  had  but  the  one  inter 
view  with  them,  as  they  were  starting  the  same  day  to  at 
tend  to  some  business  in  the  north,  but  after  revolving  the 
matter  in  all  its  bearings  for  another  ten  days  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  accept  their  advice,  consoled  his  crestfallen 
superintendent  with  the  promise  of  constant  work,  and  set 
forth  one  afternoon  to  place  his  advertisements. 

He  had  visited  the  town  but  twice  since  his  arrival,  and 
then  in  the  morning.  To-day  he  saw  it  characteristically 
for  the  first  time.  The  hills  that  formed  a  cove  of  the  great 
valley  were  bright  with  their  houses  and  gardens,  but  very 
quiet.  The  long  sloping  block  of  Main  Street  was  crowded 
with  wagons,  buggies,  and  horses,  that  from  a  distance 
looked  to  be  a  solid  mass;  and  even  when  he  rode  into  their 
midst  he  found  some  difficulty  in  forcing  his  way.  Where 
the  dusty  vehicles  were  not  moving  they  were  tied  to  every 
post,  the  horses  with  their  front  feet  on  the  sidewalk  ob 
serving  the  familiar  throng  with  friendly  patient  eyes.  The 
shops  were  doing  a  rushing  business,  and  so,  Gwynne  in 
ferred,  were  the  banks.  As  for  the  saloons,  their  doors 
swung  with  mechanical  precision.  Most  of  the  farmers 
wore  linen  dusters  and  broad  straw  hats,  but  their  women 
had  put  on  all  their  finery.  The  girls  of  the  town  could 

240 


ANCESTORS 

be  readily  distinguished  by  their  crisp  muslins  and  white 
hats  and  absence  of  dust.  There  were  groups  of  Rose- 
water  girls  holding  rendezvous  with  their  country  cousins 
everywhere,  although  for  the  most  part  in  the  drug  stores, 
which,  with  their  tiled  floors  and  ample  space,  looked  like 
public  reception-rooms.  There  were  many  knots  of  men 
under  the  broad  roof  over  the  pavement,  but  in  spite  of 
the  ubiquitous  saloon  no  drunkenness.  Nor  was  there  a 
policeman  in  sight.  Nor  a  shop  for  fire-arms.  Gone  were 
the  old  days  when  a  man  drank  till  his  brain  was  fire  and 
his  pistol  went  off  by  itself.  The  sting  had  been  extracted 
from  California  and  she  had  settled  down  to  practical  con 
sideration  of  her  vast  resources;  and  in  the  comfortable 
assurance  that  there  was  enough  for  all.  Gwynne  had  not 
seen  a  beggar  nor  a  pauper  since  his  arrival. 

He  placed  his  advertisements  with  both  the  local  news 
papers,  to  avoid  the  ill-will  of  either,  posted  others  to  the 
San  Francisco  press,  and  was  riding  down  Main  Street  in 
order  to  have  a  closer  look  at  the  long  hitching-rail  lined 
on  either  side  with  another  solid  mass  of  horses  and 
vehicles,  when  he  caught  sight  of  Isabel  driving  a  buggy 
and  evidently  searching  for  an  empty  post.  He  laid  aside 
his  grievance  and  made  his  way  to  her  side.  She  quite 
beamed  with  welcome,  and  they  disentangled  themselves 
into  a  side  street,  where  there  were  empty  posts. 

"I  only  got  home  at  half-past  eleven  last  night/'  she  in 
formed  him.  "The  boat  was  three  hours  late  in  starting, 
and  when  I  finally  made  up  my  mind  to  come  by  train  the 
last  had  gone.  So  I  overslept  this  morning  or  I  should 
have  gone  out  to  see  you.  But  I  meant  to  telephone  you 
from  her  and  ask  you  to  come  out  for  the  first  duck- 
shooting — " 

241 


ANCESTORS 

" Duck-shooting!''     Gwynne  forgot  the  grievance. 

"The  season  opens  to-day — the  fifteenth  of  October. 
I  had  meant  really  to  ask  you  for  the  first  thing  this  morn 
ing.  Never  mind,  we  have  plenty  of  time,  and  you  will  not 
have  to  go  home  for  anything.  Just  wait  here  until  I  do 
my  errands." 

He  tied  his  horse  next  to  hers  and  sat  down  in  the  shade 
on  a  chair  provided  by  a  friendly  store-keeper.  In  less 
than  half  an  hour  she  returned,  and  they  started  for  Old 
Inn.  Isabel  had  never  seemed  so  charming  to  him  as  they 
rode  slowly  out  of  the  town  and  along  the  dusty  road. 
Smiling  and  sparkling,  she  asked  him  rapid  eager  questions 
about  his  ranch,  his  plans,  his  comforts,  whom  he  had  met, 
how  he  had  passed  his  days  and  evenings.  The  truth  was 
she  had  practically  forgotten  him,  and  her  conscience  smote 
her.  Her  week  in  San  Francisco  had  waxed  to  a  fortnight, 
for  she  had  enjoyed  herself  far  more  than  was  usual  in  the 
company  of  her  relatives.  Lyster  Stone  was  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  of  men  when  debts  were  not  more  than 
usually  pressing,  and  as  he  had  just  painted  a  drop  curtain 
and  sold  a  picture  for  a  considerable  sum,  he  had  re 
plenished  his  own  elaborate  wardrobe,  given  his  wife  a  new 
frock,  silenced  the  loudest  of  his  creditors,  and  thought  it 
worth  while  to  "blow  the  rest  in"  on  a  sister-in-law  who 
seemed  to  have  no  taste  for  matrimony.  Moreover,  he 
really  liked  and  admired  her,  and  he  liked  still  more  to 
spend  money.  When  his  pockets  were  full  of  actual  coin 
he  abandoned  himself  to  sheer  happiness.  Debt  had  bred 
philosophy;  moreover,  his  wife  relieved  him  of  too  de 
pressing  a  contact  with  duns,  and  there  were  times  when 
his  respite  was  longer  than  he  deserved.  If  his  Paula  had 
a  little  way  of  cajoling  the  amount  out  of  her  sister's 

242 


ANCESTORS 

pocket,  why  not  ?  He  had  never  refused  a  friend  in  need, 
and,  in  truth,  could  see  no  use  for  money  except  to  spend 
it.  If  all  the  world  did  not  wag  his  way,  so  much  the 
worse  for  cold-blooded  mercenary  superfluous  beings. 
So,  the  two  weeks  had  been  a  round  of  dinners  at  the  gay 
Bohemian  restaurants,  chafing-dish  suppers  at  his  own 
and  other  studios,  the  theatre  and  opera,  and  long  walks 
about  the  brilliant  streets  at  night.  It  was  all  the  more 
interesting  to  Isabel  from  its  odd  wild  likeness  to  foreign 
life.  She  had  heard  much  of  this  European  "  continental " 
flavor  of  San  Francisco  life,  only  to  be  tasted  by  artificial 
light,  and  she  had  given  herself  up  to  it  with  an  abandon 
of  which  she  possessed  a  sufficient  reserve.  But  one  cloud 
had  risen  on  the  blue,  and  as  it  emptied  itself  in  a  torrent, 
it  was  a  matter  for  congratulation  that  it  had  tarried  the 
fortnight. 

A  woman  of  growing  wealth,  who  affected  artists'  soci 
ety,  had  continued  to  live  in  her  pretty  odd  little  house, 
but  had  recently  done  it  up  like  a  stuffed  and  scented 
jeweller's  box.  The  tiny  salon  was  her  pride.  It  was  all 
cherry  satin  and  white  lace,  the  furniture  lilliputian,  to 
match  the  proportions  of  the  room  and  the  lady.  She 
was  large-eyed,  dark-haired,  pretty,  and  the  room  set  her 
off  admirably.  It  was  here  that  she  invariably  received 
her  artist  friends,  and  felt  herself  at  last  set  in  a  definite 
niche,  in  the  city  of  individualities.  One  day,  in  a  spasm 
of  generosity,  she  bade  Stone,  calling  in  a  mood  of  unusual 
depression,  to  paint  it,  and  sell  for  his  own  benefit  what,  at 
least,  should  be  a  glowing  bit  of  still  life.  Stone  began  his 
work  next  day,  meaning,  when  the  seductive  interior  was 
finished,  to  induce  his  patron  to  sit  on  the  doll-like  sofa 
for  a  portrait,  irresistible  alike  to  her  vanity  and  pocket, 

243 


ANCESTORS 

But  she  capriciously  went  ofF  to  New  York  for  clothes,  and 
he  exhibited  the  picture  in  the  shop  of  a  dealer  where 
buyers  were  not  infrequent.  Thence,  indeed,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days  went  a  wealthy  broker  whose  sign 
was  three  balls.  He  liked  the  picture,  but  bargained  that 
himself  should  sit  on  the  sofa.  His  offer  was  generous. 
Stone,  to  do  him  justice,  demurred,  for  all  Bohemia,  at 
least,  knew  the  room.  But  Mrs.  Paula  wept  at  the  thought 
of  the  lost  hundreds,  and  he  succumbed.  The  result,  at 
the  owner's  insistence,  was  exhibited.  The  lady  returned 
as  unexpectedly  as  she  had  flown,  and  was  asked  at  every 
step  if  she  had  "seen  her  room."  Scenting  mystery,  she 
went  to  the  gallery;  and  stood  petrified  before  the  faithful 
presentment  of  her  cherry-colored. satin  boudoir,  the  very 
edge  of  the  sofa  accommodating  a  large  gentleman  with 
an  eminent  nose,  a  bulging  shirt-front — diamond-studded — 
and  knees  long  severed.  He  looked  like  a  Hebraic  Gulli 
ver  in  Lilliput,  and  the  unities  were  in  tatters.  She  stared, 
stuttered,  wept.  And  then  she  descended  upon  Stone. 

Gwynne  laughed  heartily  as  Isabel  related  the  episode, 
but  they  fell  into  silence  after  they  crossed  the  bridge  and 
were  able  to  accelerate  their  pace.  He  made  no  effort  to 
break  it,  although  Isabel  had  never  found  him  more  polite. 
She  also  thought  him  vastly  improved  with  his  thick  coat 
of  tan,  and  almost  picturesque  in  his  khaki  riding-clothes 
and  high  boots.  There  were  more  subtle  changes  in  him 
which  it  was  too  warm  and  dusty  to  speculate  upon  at  the 
moment. 

Gwynne  had  restrained  his  spontaneous  delight  in  seeing 
Isabel  again.  Not  only  did  he  have  a  genuine  grievance 
in  her  neglect  of  him,  but  he  had  no  intention  that  she 
should  fancy  he  had  need  of  anything  she  could  give  him, 

244 


ANCESTORS 

beyond  superficial  companionship  and  advice.  More  than 
once  during  the  past  weeks  he  had  caught  himself  long 
ing  so  miserably  for  her  sympathy  and  the  support  of  her 
strong  independent  character  that  it  had  alarmed  him. 
He  realized  for  the  first  time  what  a  prop  and  resource 
the  deep  maturity  and  scornful  strength  of  his  mother 
had  been.  He  must  brace  and  reinforce  his  character  at 
all  points  if  he  persisted  in  his  determination  to  achieve 
the  colossal  task  he  had  set  for  himself.  Woman's  sym 
pathy  was  all  very  well  for  some  men,  or  for  him  in  more 
toward  circumstances,  but  he  had  looked  deeply  into  him 
self  and  been  terrified  at  unsuspected  weaknesses.  He 
had  set  his  teeth  and  determined  to  fight  his  fight  alone. 
If  he  failed,  at  least  he  would  have  the  consolation  of 
never  having  cried  out  to  a  woman:  "Give  me  your 
help!  I  need  you!" 

He  did  not  betray  the  least  of  this,  but  his  first  remark  as 
they  rested  the  horses  on  the  slight  hill  leading  to  Isabel's 
ranch  was  less  irrelevant  than  it  may  have  seemed  to  himself. 

"I  suppose  you  met  all  sorts  of  interesting  Johnnies  in 
that  beloved  San  Francisco  of  yours,"  he  said,  abruptly. 

"Of  course.  It  will  be  quite  cool  in  an  hour  and  we 
can  go  out.  Fortunately  I  never  gave  away  Uncle  Hiram's 
shooting-togs,  and  he  was  quite  your  height  and  figure. 
We'll  take  tea  and  sandwiches  with  us  so  that  we  need  not 
hurry  home  for  supper." 

She  suddenly  forgot  the  ducks  and  pointed  with  her  whip 
at  the  low  hills  behind  her  house.  The  runs  were  covered 
with  several  thousand  snow-white,  red-combed  chickens, 
and  all  their  little  white  houses  shone  in  the  sun.  The 
effect  was  by  no  means  inartistic,  but  Gwynne  elevated 
his  nose.  He  hated  the  sight  of  chickens. 

245 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  more  beautiful  than  that  ?" 
asked  Isabel,  proudly.  "They  all  know  me,  and  I  love 
every  one  of  them." 

"I  don't  doubt  there  is  money  in  them,"  said  Gwynne, 
dryly.  "But  as  a  pet  I  should  prefer  even  a  cat." 

"Oh,  I  only  pet  them  when  they  are  ill.  There  is  an 
old  feather-bed  in  the  house,  and  I  put  them  in  that  when 
they  need  nursing  at  night.  That  is  a  device  of  my 
own,  and  much  better  than  going  out  at  twelve  o'clock 
on  a  cold  dark  night.  By -the -way,  I  think  your  idea 
of  selling  half  or  more  of  Lumalitas  admirable.  Great 
tracts  of  land  in  this  part  of  the  State  are  out  of  date,  and 
more  bother  than  they  are  worth,  anywhere.  You  can 
invest  the  money  to  great  advantage  in  San  Francisco; 
but  I  think  you  should  devote  the  rest  of  the  ranch  to 
chickens — 

"No,  madam!"  Gwynne  turned  upon  her  the  glittering 
eye  of  an  animal  at  bay.  Then  he  laughed.  "I  have 
heard  that  proposition  from  every  man  I  have  met  and 
daily  from  my  superintendent  until  I  managed  to  suppress 
him.  I  won't  have  a  chicken  on  the  ranch.  The  sight 
of  them  not  only  fills  me  with  ennui,  but  I  have  no  intention 
of  presenting  your  comic  papers  with  material.  I  could 
write  their  jokes  myself — 'Gwynne  before  and  after  :  West 
minster  in  the  background  and  a  hayseed  figure  in  front 
addressing  a  constituency  of  chickens.  Stumping  the 
country  with  eggs  in  my  pockets  for  the  children.  Dining 
the  eminent  members  of  my  constituency  on  horse-meat, 
under  the  delusion  that  what  is  good  for  chickens  is  good 
for  votes.  *  Leghorn  Gwynne.'  'The  Member  from  Chick- 
enville/  No  thanks.  No  weapons  that  I  can  withhold." 


IX 


is  all  on  my  ranch,"  said  Isabel;   "so  there  is 
1    no  danger  of  being  peppered.    The  rest  of  the  marsh 
is  owned  by  clubs,  and  as  there  was  no  shooting  here  last 
year  the   ducks   should   be   thicker   than   anywhere   else. 
We  should  get  our  fifty  apiece  in  no  time." 

They  were  entering  a  narrow  slough,  hardly  wider  than 
the  boat.  It  cut  its  zigzag  way  through  the  marsh  for 
many  miles,  and  they  could  follow  its  course  with  the  eye 
but  a  few  feet  at  a  time.  Gwynne  shipped  the  oars  and 
began  to  scull,  his  gun  across  his  knee.  Isabel,  in  front 
and  with  her  back  to  him,  sat  with  her  own  gun  ready  for 
a  shot.  On  one  side  of  them  was  a  large  piece  of  marsh 
land,  on  the  left,  smaller  patches,  and  little  islands  caught 
in  the  long  grasping  fingers  of  the  tide.  Gwynne  had 
attired  himself  with  an  ill  grace  in  a  pair  of  his  cousin 
Hiram's  rubber  boots  that  completely  covered  his  body 
below  the  Waist,  and  an  old  shooting-coat  with  capacious 
pockets.  Isabel  wore  a  similar  costume,  and  but  for  her 
hair  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  lad.  She  possessed 
no  interest  for  Gwynne  whatever  at  the  moment.  Nor 
did  anything  else  but  the  prospect  of  a  new  and  exciting 
sport.  The  October  evening  was  mellow  and  full  of 
color,  the  entire  reach  of  the  marsh  steeped  in  a  golden 
haze  shed  from  the  glory  in  the  west.  Even  the  forests 
and  the  lower  ridges  rising  to  Tamalpais  had  something 

247 


ANCESTORS 

aqueous  in  their  vague  outlines,  swayed  gently  in  the 
golden  tide.  Only  the  tide  lands  were  green;  the  very 
water  was  yellow.  Here  and  there,  but  far  away,  a  mast 
or  sail  rose  above  the  level  surface  of  the  marsh.  From 
the  distance  came  the  sound  of  constant  shooting. 

Gwynne  sculled  silently,  but  with  some  impatience. 
They  had  left  the  open  creek  far  behind  and  had  not  seen 
a  duck.  Suddenly  Isabel's  gun  leaped  to  her  shoulder. 
They  rounded  a  sharp  point  and  the  whole  surface  of  the 
narrow  slough  between  them  and  the  next  bend  was 
black  with  sleeping  ducks.  Gwynne's  knee  moved  auto 
matically  to  the  seat  in  front  of  him,  and  as  the  startled 
birds  rose  he  and  Isabel  fired  to  right  and  left.  The 
scattering  shot  played  havoc,  and  the  second  charge 
brought  down  at  least  half  as  many  on  the  higher  wing. 
Isabel  reloaded  the  guns  while  Gwynne  went  for  the  ducks 
that  had  fallen  on  the  land.  He  fell  into  several  holes 
himself,  and  returned  covered  with  mud,  but  waving  his 
birds  in  triumph;  and  once  more  they  stole  softly  along 
their  winding  way.  The  shot  had  roused  neighboring 
flocks;  several  dark  clouds  had  risen  simultaneously,  but 
in  a  few  moments  they  settled  again. 

"You  had  better  use  both  guns,"  whispered  Isabel, " and 
I  will  do  the  reloading.  We  can't  do  much  with  these  old- 
fashioned  things  at  best." 

Gwynne  accepted  this  act  of  sacrifice  with  a  matter-of- 
fact  nod,  and  it  was  but  a  moment  later  that  they  came 
upon  another  flock.  He  fired  with  an  accuracy  of  aim 
that  won  him  an  admiring  mutter,  although  to  miss  would 
have  been  almost  as  noteworthy.  But  after  repeating 
this  experience  several  times,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  announced  himself  blase. 

248 


A       N      C       E       S     ^T_      O       R       S 

''I'd  like  something  a  little  more  difficult,"  he  said. 
"Ten  minutes  of  this  and  we  can  glut  the  market." 

"All  men  are  children,"  said  Isabel,  indulgently.  "Tie 
up  the  boat  and  we'll  go  after  widgeon." 

They  landed  and  stole  softly  over  the  larger  reach  of 
marsh-land,  Isabel  in  the  lead  as  she  knew  every  hole.  It 
was  ten  minutes  before  she  raised  her  hand  and  pointed 
to  a  wilted  but  still  effective  screen.  Under  cover  of 
this  they  crawled  towards  a  large  pond  on  which  ducks 
were  resting  but  by  no  means  asleep.  Before  the  guns 
were  shouldered  they  had  taken  flight;  so  few  were  brought 
down  on  the  wing  that  Gwynne's  interest  revived,  and  he 
followed  Isabel  eagerly  towards  another  pond  with  a  bet 
ter  blind.  Here  they  were  more  wary  and  more  fortu 
nate,  and  Isabel  took  a  curious  pleasure  in  watching 
the  manifest  bliss  of  her  companion.  She  had  never  seen 
him  look  really  happy  before.  Upon  his  return  to  Cap- 
heaton  from  his  triumphant  battle  on  the  hustings  he  had 
been  as  impassive  as  his  traditions  demanded.  On  the 
morning  of  his  engagement  he  had  looked  rather  silly  to 
her  detached  eye;  and  immediately  after,  tragedy  and 
trouble  and  infinite  vexation  had  claimed  him.  But  this 
evening,  with  his  cap  pushed  back,  his  nostrils  distended, 
his  eyes  sparkling,  he  looked  like  any  other  young  fellow  to 
whom  the  present  was  all.  Isabel  reflected  somewhat 
cynically  that  it  was  the  opportunity  to  kill  something 
that  had  effected  this  momentary  reconciliation  with  life. 
But  she  was  too  good  a  sportswoman  not  to  understand 
his  mood,  and  when  he  had  waded  into  the  lake  and  re 
turned  flushed  and  triumphant  with  his  bag,  she  com 
plimented  him  so  warmly  that  he  laughed  aloud  in  sheer 
delight. 

249 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

"We  have  enough  for  once,"  she  began,  but  he  would 
not  hear  of  returning  to  the  boat  even  fcr  the  refreshment 
of  tea,  and  they  went  on  and  on  until  their  feet  were  as 
weary  as  their  shoulders  under  the  burden  that  was 
Isabel's  part  to  string  while  her  partner  enjoyed  himself. 

"But  we  must  really  go/'  she  announced,  finally.  "We 
have  a  long  stretch  out  in  the  open  creek  after  we  leave 
the  slough,  and  it  is  not  so  easy  to  keep  the  channel  after 
dark.  I  have  lost  track  of  things  and  don't  remember 
what  time  the  moon  rises.  You  can  come  every  day  if 
you  like;  and  four  in  the  morning  is  the  best  time  if  you 
are  energetic  enough — 

"I  would  get  up  at  midnight — stay  up  all  night.  But  I 
am  quite  willing  to  return  now — and  not  for  tea.  I  should 
like  several  of  these  ducks  for  supper,  if  your  Jap  is  less 
haughty  than  mine." 

Their  way  lay  through  the  middle  of  the  marsh-land.  It 
was  not  until  they  reached  the  slough  that  she  uttered  a 
loud  sharp  cry.  The  boat  was  at  least  three  feet  below 
them  and  there  was  nothing  at  either  end  but  mud. 

Isabel  stamped  both  feet  in  succession  and  flung  her 
burden  to  the  ground.  "Why,  why  did  I  take  Mac's 
word  ?"  she  exclaimed,  furiously.  "He  always  makes  mis 
takes  about  the  tide — he  hasn't  an  inch  of  memory  left. 
Why  didn't  I  look  at  the  calendar  ?  Or  think  ?  This 
comes  of  going  off  for  three  weeks  instead  of  staying  at 
home  and  attending  to  business.  I  had  a  confused  idea 
that  this  was  the  'good  week/  Great  heavens!" 

Gwynne  had  watched  her  with  considerable  interest  and 
curiosity.  But  he  answered,  soothingly:  "Well,  what  of 
it  ?  The  tide  turns,  doesn't  it."  It  happened  that  he 
had  had  no  experience  of  marsh-lands. 

250 


ANCESTORS 

"Yes — in  six  hours. '* 

"Six  hours!  Well,  what  of  it?  It  is  all  in  the  day's 
work.  Look  at  it  as  a  jolly  adventure."  It  was  his  first 
opportunity  to  console  and  he  hastened  to  take  advantage 
of  it.  "We  have  tea  and  sandwiches,  warm  enough  cloth 
ing,  and  the  weather  is  perfection.  If  we  get  stiff  and 
chilly  we  can  walk — " 

"Walk?  In  these  rubber  boots?  I  am  nearly  dead 
already."  She  had  a  wild  impulse  to  drop  her  head  on 
his  shoulder  and  weep;  but  her  pride  flew  to  the  front 
and  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  remarked,  airily:  "I 
don't  really  mind  anything  much  except  being  an  idiot. 
However,  I'll  make  it  up  to  you.  I  can  cook  ducks  better 
than  Chuma.  You  make  the  tea." 

Gwynne  made  a  fire  out  of  decayed  tule  weed  and  drift 
wood,  then  climbed  down  into  the  boat  and  brought  up 
the  provisions  and  utensils  intended  for  an  earlier  interlude. 
The  tea  warmed  and  stimulated  both,  and  they  knelt  by 
the  fire  and  toasted  the  ducks  at  the  end  of  the  boat-hook, 
scowling  with  a  preternatural  earnestness  both  were  too 
hungry  to  observe.  Then  they  fell  to,  and  it  is  doubtful 
if  either  had  ever  eaten  with  a  keener  relish.  They  were 
obliged  to  use  their  fingers,  and,  as  they  had  no  salt,  to 
shred  the  ham  and  wrap  it  about  the  morsels  of  duck, 
but  to  such  minor  matters  they  gave  not  a  thought,  and 
consumed  four  teals  and  every  scrap  they  had  brought 
from  home,  as  well  as  another  pot  of  tea.  Isabel,  re 
calling  the  injured  air  of  her  father,  uncle,  and  brother-in- 
law  when  their  comfort  was  rudely  disturbed,  warmed  to 
Gwynne,  who  was  good-humored  and  amused.  Even  the 
reflection  that  he  had  roughed  it  in  far  worse  straits  than 
this,  or  that  had  he  the  legal  right  to  grumble  he  might 

16  251 


A       N       C       E       S       TORS 

possibly  use  it,  did  not  alter  the  pleasant  impression  he 
made  as  he  tramped  out  the  fire,  washed  his  hands  in  the 
marsh  grass,  and  then  stretched  himself  full  length  with 
his  pipe.  She  lit  a  cigarette,  but  had  not  smoked  half  its 
length  when  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Look!"  she  said.  "We  must  get  into  the  boat.  It  is 
getting  damper  every  moment,  and  the  fog  will  make  us 
feel  as  if  we  were  in  our  graves  if  we  don't  sit  on  some 
thing  dry." 

She  had  pointed  northward,  and  Gwynne  saw  a  phantom 
mountain  moving  along  the  level  surface  of-  the  marsh 
with  the  quiet  plodding  motion  of  a  ship  under  full  sail  in 
a  light  breeze.  The  curious  combination  of  images  fas 
cinated  him,  and  he  watched  the  stealthy  silent  progress 
of  this  night  visitor  from  the  tule  lands  of  the  north,  that 
looked  as  if  it  might  have  obliterated  the  world.  As  he 
jumped  down  into  the  boat  he  saw  before  him,  on  three 
sides  of  him,  the  sparkling  night.  Then  as  Isabel  laid 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  he  lifted  her  down,  the 
fog  swept  over  them,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  sit 
and  watch  the  glow  of  pipe  and  cigarette;  even  their  own 
outlines  were  barely  visible. 

"I  fancy  it  will  go  home  when  the  moon  rises,"  said 
Isabel,  with  a  little  shiver.  "Are  you  cold?"  she  asked, 
solicitously. 

"No,"  replied  a  tart  voice.  "Why  didn't  you  let  me 
ask  that  ?  You  are  not  my  mother.  We  can  make  tea  at 
intervals.  How  long  do  you  suppose  the  tide  has  been 
out  ?" 

"About  two  hours." 

"I  am  quite  comfortable  and  have  never  resented  any 
adventure.  And  this  is  the  appropriate  time  and  place 

252 


ANCESTORS 

for  a  certain  story.  As  I  remarked  before  I  shall  not 
know  you  until  I  have  heard  it.  Pasts  are  dead  walls." 

"It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  know  me." 

"I  think  otherwise.  You  are  my  one  friend  among 
eighty  millions  of  aliens,  or  ought  to  be.  I  shall  continue 
to  feel  a  superior  sort  of  acquaintance  until  you  have  taken 
me  into  your  confidence." 

There  was  a  movement  of  the  fog  that  he  inferred  was 
a  shrug.  "Very  well,"  she  replied,  without  a  break  in  her 
cool  even  voice.  "I  suppose  I  shall  enjoy  talking  about 
myself.  It  is  not  often  I  have  had  the  opportunity  to 
indulge  in  a  monologue  in  my  family,  and  you  certainly 
are  at  my  mercy.  If  you  attempt  to  flee  you  will  be  mired 
like  the  boat,  and  I  could  not  pull  you  out." 

He  had  never  felt  the  least  curiosity  about  the  past  his 
tory  or  the  inner  life  of  a  mortal  before,  and  in  normal 
circumstances  Isabel's  would  not  have  appealed  to  him. 
But  her  instrumentality  in  changing  the  whole  current  of 
his  life  had  alarmed  his  masculinity  into  a  resolve  to 
demonstrate  his  superiority  if  it  came  to  a  contest  of 
wills;  given  birth  to  a  subtle  assumption  of  proprietor 
ship,  indifferent  in  material  things,  but  pressing  towards 
the  guarded  chambers  of  the  spirit.  Isabel,  vaguely  un 
easy  earlier  in  the  day,  began  to  appreciate  the  advance 
of  an  outer  and  powerful  force  upon  her  precious  freedom, 
and  resented  it.  And  while  she  made  up  her  mind  that 
if  it  came  to  a  silent  contest  of  wills,  hers  at  least  should 
not  be  conquered,  she  reflected  that  the  deeper  intimacy, 
certain  to  ensue  if  she  gave  him  her  confidence,  would 
insure  her  a  firmer  and  subtler  hold  upon  his  destinies. 


X 


F  course  I  lived  two  lives  before  my  father's  death. 
My  days  were  sufficiently  filled  with  him,  to  say 
nothing  of  making  both  ends  meet;  for  even  after  my 
uncle's  death,  I  had  only  a  small  income  until  the  day  of 
my  complete  liberty  came.  I  slept  soundly  enough  when 
I  was  not  following  my  father  about  the  house  with  a 
candle,  or  about  the  hills  with  a  lantern.  But  such  a 
life  preyed  upon  my  spirits.  I  imagined  myself  both 
melancholy  and  bitter  and  grew  unhealthily  romantic. 
But  from  the  conditions  of  my  life  I  had  two  escapes — in 
books  and  in  dreams.  My  father  hated  company  more 
and  more  and  I  rarely  left  him  for  a  dance  or  one  of  those 
church  festivities  where  all  the  young  people  of  my  set 
were  sure  to  meet.  I  knew  that  I  was  regarded  as  rather 
a  tragic  figure,  and  this  enhanced  my  morbid  egoism.  I 
wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  as  really  happy  again! 

"  During  the  year  following  my  father's  death  I  lived  out 
here  alone,  but  with  my  hands  tied  by  the  executors  of 
my  uncle's  will.  I  felt  myself  quite  the  enchanted  princess 
and  put  in  most  of  my  time  dreaming  about  the  prince. 
I  suppose  no  girl  ever  had  such  wild  and  impossible  no 
tions  of  love.  That  is  to  say  most  girls  have,  but  I  had 
peculiar  opportunities  for  indulgence  and  elaboration.  At 
the  same  time  I  despised  or  disliked  every  man  I  knew 
or  ever  had  known — with  the  possible  exception  of  Judge 

254 


A       NCR £_     TORS 

Leslie.  Not  only  had  I  found  all  the  men  of  my  little 
personal  world  weak,  or  selfish,  or  tyrannical,  but  those  I 
knew  almost  as  well  were  narrow,  or  commonplace,  or  un 
interested  in  anything  but  local  politics  or  making  money, 
or  both  combined.  Not  but  that  Rosewater  is  the  world 
in  little.  You  never  read  of  any  old  Italian  duchy  where 
there  was  more  jealousy  and  intrigue;  more  silent  and 
tense,  or  open  and  gnashing  struggle  for  supremacy  than 
is  centered  in  these  three  banks.  They  have  prevented  the 
town  from  increasing  in  size  and  importance,  in  spite  of 
its  prosperity,  through  their  machinations  against  one  an 
other.  If  a  stranger  comes  to  the  town  intending  to  invest 
his  money  in  some  one  of  the  flourishing  industries,  or  to 
introduce  another,  the  banker  to  whom  he  brings  a  letter, 
or  whom  he  happens  to  meet  first,  terrifies  him  with  tales 
of  the  rapacity  and  dishonorable  methods  of  his  rivals;  and 
the  other  two,  who  fear  that  the  first  will  get  the  stranger's 
business,  warn  him  that  Mr.  Colton,  for  instance,  never 
gave  an  hour's  mercy.  The  three  have  made  slow,  sure, 
dogged  fortunes,  but  each  has  prevented  the  others  from 
becoming  millionaires,  and  Rosewater  from  taking  its 
proper  place  as  county  seat.  And  they  are  all  afraid  of 
new-comers,  new  capital,  of  authority  passing  out  of  their 
hands.  They  are  careful  not  to  charge  exorbitant  rates 
of  interest,  and  every  farmer  and  merchant  in  the  county 
borrows  from  them;  partly  from  habit,  partly  because  the 
banks  are  uncommonly  sound.  They  foreclose  without 
mercy,  but  that  does  not  frighten  their  old  patrons,  who 
have  the  perennial  optimism  of  the  country.  The  only 
capital  they  have  not  succeeded  in  frightening  off  is  that 
controlled  by  the  great  corporations.  One  or  two  have 
wedged  their  way  in  and  others  will  follow  in  time.  Doubt- 

255 


ANCESTORS 

less  when  the  younger  men  get  the  reins  in  their  hands 
they  will  trim  with  the  times,  but  the  older  seem  to  be 
Biblical  if  not  Christian,  and  the  consequence  is  that  most 
of  the  younger  have  left  for  a  wider  field. 

"  Finally  the  day  came  when  I  could  turn  my  back  on 
California,  and  I  felt  sure  that  I  should  remain  away  for 
ten  years  at  least.  I  thought  that  the  liberty  I  had  longed 
for  all  my  life  was  mine  at  last.  In  a  conducted  tour,  I 
soon  discovered,  there  was  little  liberty,  to  say  nothing  of 
privacy.  Before  I  had  been  two  days  in  the  train  I  was 
made  to  feel  that  there  was  something  wrong  with  a  person 
that  showed  a  disposition  to  retire  into  herself.  She  was 
either  aristocratic,  or  had  something  to  hide,  unless  she 
responded  to  the  confidences  natural  to  people  of  that 
class.  As  there  were  just  eighteen  in  the  party,  of  course 
I  always  had  a  room  partner,  and  there  was  not  a  wom 
an  in  the  entire  company  that  I  would  have  known  from 
choice.  However,  it  was  excellent  discipline,  not  unen- 
lightening,  and  the  end  came  in  six  weeks.  They  sailed 
from  Naples  and  I  wandered  about  by  myself.  In  a  way 
the  liberty  was  intoxicating,  but  of  course  the  sum  of  it 
was  lessened  by  the  daily  irritations  of  travel  in  Europe: 
the  rapacity  of  the  Italians  and  French,  the  wretched 
trains,  the  hordes  of  vulgar  tourists,  mostly  of  my  own 
nation,  the  absurd  primness,  quite  foreign  to  my  nature,  I 
was  forced  to  assume  when  alone  with  a  man  who  was 
neither  English  nor  American,  the  awful  fatigues,  the 
ennuis  of  long  rainy  days  in  the  second-rate  hotels  and 
pensions  I  had  to  frequent.  Still,  I  was  too  young  for  any 
unpleasant  impression  to  take  root  and  discourage  me,  and 
there  was  much  that  was  wholly  delightful.  I  spent  weeks 
in  a  city  or  even  village  that  took  my  fancy.  But  even  so 

256 


ANCESTOR S 

it  was  not  long  before  I  realized  that  my  liberty  was  as 
far  off  as  ever,  because  my  soul  at  least  was  possessed  by 
the  image  of  the  prince,  the  more  tormenting  and  insistent 
as  his  outlines  were  so  remarkably  vague.  In  the  intervals 
when  novelty  ceased  to  appeal,  when  my  very  eyes  refused 
to  look  at  things,  I  pictured  inexpressibly  thrilling  and 
romantic  futures.  Then  I  would  fall  into  a  panic  at  the 
passing  of  youth,  for  a  woman  never  feels  so  old  again  as 
between  eighteen  and  twenty-five — her  first  quarter-cen 
tury. 

"  And  I  did  not  lack  opportunities.  I  met  many  people, 
some  of  them  quite  charming.  But  they  left  me  cold. 

"  Then  I  lived  the  student  life  in  Paris,  studying  art  just 
enough  to  give  me  the  raison  d'etre.  It  was  very  gay, 
very  irresponsible,  very  educating  to  a  provincial  miss. 
The  restaurants  with  their  sanded  floors,  and  the  cos 
mopolitan  mixture  of  students,  generally  eccentric  to  look 
at,  brandishing  temperament  until  the  poor  thing  must 
have  been  worn  out  before  its  harness  of  technique  was 
ready — all  was  a  perpetual  source  of  delight  to  me,  and  I 
used  to  let  my  mind  dwell  on  Rosewater  for  the  sake  of  en 
joying  myself  with  the  more  wonder  and  gratitude. 

"  But  of  course  in  such  a  life  I  had  to  have  a  companion, 
I  could  not  long  go  to  students'  restaurants  alone.  I  had 
taken  a  tiny  flat  in  the  Latin  Quarter  at  the  top  of  a  house, 
and  overlooking  a  convent  where  the  nuns  were  always 
walking  in  the  garden.  A  femme  de  menage  cooked  my 
breakfast  and  kept  my  rooms  in  order;  but  although  I  was 
quite  comfortable  and  never  lonely,  I  had  not  been  es 
tablished  a  fortnight  before  certain  experiences  at  the 
restaurants  and  on  the  street,  which  you  can  imagine  for 
yourself,  convinced  me  that  I  could  not  live  alone.  So  I 

257 


ANCESTORS 

looked  hurriedly  over  the  field,  and  decided  that  an 
American  girl  in  my  class  suggested  fewest  complications. 
Moreover,  she  interested  me.  She  had  a  pale  tense  face, 
rarely  spoke  to  anybody,  and  worked  as  if  her  life  depended 
upon  every  stroke,  although  her  talent  was  not  conspicuous. 
It  was  not  easy  to  approach  her,  but  one  day,  after  I  had 
dined  alone  in  my  flat  five  times  in  succession,  I  noticed 
that  she  was  paler  than  usual,  and  that  her  hands  were 
trembling.  Then  I  felt  certain  she  was  in  trouble,  and  it 
would  have  been  my  instinct  to  help  her  in  any  case.  I 
joined  her  as  we  left  the  atelier,  and  asked  her  to  walk  a 
bit.  It  was  not  long  before  she  admitted  that  her  money 
was  practically  gone,  and  that  her  family  would  not  send 
her  any  more;  they  had  never  approved  of  her  coming  to 
Paris  to  study  art.  They  were  not  at  all  well  off,  and  as 
she  had  a  facility  in  trimming  hats  they  had  thought  it 
her  duty  to  contribute  more  immediately  to  the  support  of 
the  family.  She  had  not  advanced  as  rapidly  as  she  had 
hoped  to  do,  and  it  would  be  insupportable  humiliation 
to  return. 

"Here  was  my  opportunity.  I  exultingly  invited  her  to 
share  my  apartment,  told  her  that  my  income  was  quite 
enough  for  two,  that  I  was  merely  studying  life,  and  that 
her  protection  would  more  than  compensate  me  for  the 
little  extra  outlay.  She  declined  at  first,  hesitated  for  a 
week;  but  in  the  end  she  came.  I  grew  very  fond  of  her, 
and  she  interested  me  more  and  more.  Her  real  bitter 
ness  taught  me  what  a  purely  youthful  symptom  mine  had 
been,  and  she  was  rather  a  clever  girl,  often  entertaining. 
She  was  about  twenty-six,  I  fancy,  and  had  received  a 
good  education  at  the  academy  of  the  Western  town  in 
which  she  had  been  born.  Her  grandparents  were  Italian 

258 


ANCESTORS 

emigrants,   and  she  had  fine  black  eyes  and  a  beautiful 
mouth. 

"Well,  before  many  months  had  passed  I  knew  that  she 
was  in  desperate  straits,  and  she  offered  to  go  away,  re 
iterating  that  she  had  only  intended  to  take  advantage  of 
the  temporary  haven  while  she  fed  her  courage  and  painted 
something  that  might  sell.  I  knew  that  if  she  left  me  she 
would  throw  herself  into  the  Seine,  and  I  persuaded  her  to 
stay.  It  is  not  difficult  to  persuade  a  stricken  woman  to 
remain  under  a  friendly  roof.  I  was  full  of  sympathy  for 
the  poor  little  thing,  but  I  don't  deny  that  I  was  immensely 
interested,  and  fairly  palpitated  with  the  thought  that  I 
was  actually  seeing  life  at  first  hand.  Who  the  hero  of  her 
romance  was  I  never  discovered,  except  that  he  was  of 
her  own  race,  and  married,  a  fact  he  had  concealed  until 
ready  to  leave  Paris.  She  told  me  enough  to  make  me  hate 
all  men  so  violently  that  the  prince  took  himself  off  and 
left  me  in  peace.  But  I  had  trouble  enough  in  my  house 
hold.  As  time  went  on  Veronica's  alternate  attacks  of 
melancholy  arid  hysteria  were  terrible.  I  sat  up  night  after 
night  to  keep  her  from  throwing  herself  out  of  the  window; 
at  times  she  seemed  to  be  quite  off  her  head.  And  then 
she  still  loved  the  wretch,  and  would  maunder  by  the  hour. 
But  it  ended,  as  everything  does;  and  the  poor  girl  died. 
I  have  no  desire  to  linger  over  the  climax.  If  anything 
was  needed  to  set  the  final  seal  upon  my  disgust  with  life 
at  first  hand  it  was  the  mean  and  sordid  details  that  at 
tend  death  and  burial  in  Paris.  The  landlord  behaved  like 
the  mercenary  fiends  they  all  are;  I  was  obliged  to  call  in 
the  assistance  of  the  American  consul  before  I  could  get  the 
body  out  of  the  house,  and  between  all  the  trouble  and  fuss 
poor  Veronica's  story  was  published  from  the  house-tops. 

259 


ANCESTORS 

"As  soon  as  it  was  over  I  left  Paris  and  started  to  travel 
slowly  through  Germany,  feeling  now  a  real  sense  of 
liberty,  inasmuch  as  I  was  sure  I  could  be  all  intellect 
henceforth,  dependent  upon  nothing  so  unsatisfactory  as 
human  happiness.  I  never  wanted  another  real  contact 
with  life.  I  would  travel,  and  study,  and  develop  my 
mind,  possibly  some  latent  talent.  Many  talents  are 
manufactured  anyhow,  and  the  world  is  always  hailing 
them  as  genius. 

"  But,  of  course,  in  time,  and  with  constant  change  of 
scene,  to  say  nothing  of  youth,  the  impression  faded;  the 
painful  experience  hovered  faintly  in  the  background  of 
the  past;  the  romantic  imp  in  my  brain,  a  little  pale  and 
emaciated  from  its  long  sojourn  in  the  cellar,  resumed  the 
throne.  Once  more  I  began  to  realize  that  I  was  human, 
and  to  cast  about  for  the  mate  that  must  surely  be  roaming 
in  search  of  me.  It  was  then  that  I  arrived  in  Munich. 

"  I  saw  him  first  in  the  Englischergarten.  You  remem 
ber  it,  that  wonderful  imitation  of  a  great  stretch  of  open 
country,  with  fields  where  they  make  hay,  and  bits  of  wild 
woods,  and  crooked  pathways,  and  bridges  over  a  branch 
of  the  Isar,  greenest  and  loveliest  of  rivers.  And  then  the 
little  beer-gardens,  where  the  people  are  always  sitting  and 
listening  to  the  band — and  beyond  the  tree-tops,  the  spires 
and  domes  of  the  beautiful  city. 

"I  was  standing  by  the  lake  watching  the  swans  when 
he  rode  by,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  he  made  no  great 
impression.  I  hardly  should  have  noticed  him  had  it  not 
been  for  his  excessively  English  appearance,  and  a  certain 
piercing  quality  in  the  glance  with  which  he  favored  me. 
I  should  never  have  given  him  another  thought,  but  a  week 
later  I  met  him  formally.  It  came  about  oddly  enough. 

260 


A       N       C       E       S       TORS 

"That  evening  in  looking  through  my  trunk  for  a  busi 
ness  paper  I  came  upon  a  letter  of  introduction  given  me  by 
a  friend  I  had  made  in  Italy.  It  was  to  a  Baroness  L.,  of 
Munich.  I  had  quite  forgotten  it,  and  the  sight  of  it  in 
spired  me  with  no  desire  for  the  social  curiosities.  I  was 
infatuated  with  Munich,  and  its  exteriors  satisfied  me.  It 
has  a  large  courteous  grandly-hospitable  air,  as  if  it  were 
the  private  property  of  a  king,  to  which,  however,  all 
strangers  are  royally  welcome.  It  is  the  ideal  king's  city: 
life  but  no  bustle;  neither  business,  as  we  understand  the 
word,  nor  poverty;  a  city  of  infinite  leisure  and  infinite 
interest,  a  superb  living  picture-book,  where  one  is  ever 
amused,  interested,  both  stimulated  and  soothed.  I  had 
been  in  it  three  weeks  and  had  almost  made  up  my  mind 
to  live  there,  and  dream  away  the  rest  of  my  life.  Knote 
and  Morena,  Feinhals  and  Bender  were  singing  at  the 
Hof  Theatre.  Mottl  was  conducting.  Lili  Marberg's 
Salome  was  something  to  be  seen  again  and  again.  You 
forgot  the  play  itself.  And  Bardou-Muller's  Mrs.  Alving! 
I  did  not  sleep  for  two  nights. 

"Well,  I  left  the  letter  on  my  table,  instead  of  returning 
it  to  the  portfolio  of  my  trunk,  and  it  exercised  a  certain  in 
sistence.  What  are  letters  of  introduction  for  ?  And  should 
I  not  see  the  social  life  of  Europe  when  the  opportunity 
offered  ?  So  I  left  a  card  on  the  baroness.  She  returned 
it  in  the  course  of  a  day  or  two,  then  wrote,  asking  me  to 
drink  tea  with  her.  I  went.  There  were  perhaps  fifty 
people  there.  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea  who  they  were 
or  what  they  looked  like.  Prestage — that  was  only  one 
of  his  names,  but  it  will  do — asked  immediately  to  be  in 
troduced  to  me,  and  we  talked  in  a  corner  for  an  hour. 
Before  we  had  talked  for  ten  minutes  I  knew  that  the  great 

261 


ANCESTOR       S 

gates  were  swinging  open.  It  is  not  possible  for  a  woman 
to  define  one  man's  fascination  to  another,  and  I  hardly 
know  myself  why  this  man  so  completely  turned  my  head. 
He  was  not  exactly  good-looking,  but  he  had  remarkable 
eyes  and  a  singular  tensity  of  manner,  which  made  me 
almost  breathless  at  times.  He  was,  moreover,  brilliantly 
educated  and  accomplished,  and  the  most  finished  speci 
men  of  the  man  of  the  world  I  had  met.  He  was  an 
American  of  inherited  fortune  who  had  spent  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  in  Europe,  alternating  between  Paris  and 
London,  although  he  knew  the  society  of  other  cities  well 
enough.  His  contempt  for  the  vulgarity  of  the  huge  mod 
ern  fortunes,  and  his  admiration  for  Munich,  were  the  first 
subjects  to  discover  to  us  the  similarity  of  our  tastes. 

"We  soon  discovered  others.  I  think  he  fell  as  deeply 
in  love  with  me  as  he  was  capable  of  doing.  He  was  forty- 
one  and  had  fairly  exhausted  his  capacity,  for  he  had  lived 
the  life  of  pleasure  only;  but  no  doubt  I  was  something 
new  in  his  experience,  and  penetrated  the  ashes  like  a 
strong  western  breeze.  I  have  seen  him  turn  quite  white 
when  I  suddenly  appeared  at  one  of  our  trysts. 

"  Of  course  I  lived  in  a  pension.  I  had  no  private  sit 
ting-room,  and  he  positively  refused  to  sit  in  the  salon  a 
second  time.  So  we  used  to  take  interminable  walks  about 
Munich,  lingering  in  all  the  quaint  old  Gothic  corners, 
along  the  magnificent  stretches  of  Renaissance;  lunching  on 
the  terraces  of  the  restaurants  under  the  shade  of  the  green 
trees,  or  in  quaint  little  back  gardens  set  in  the  angle  of 
buildings  as  mediaeval  as  Rothenburg;  the  people  looking 
down  at  us  from  the  narrow  windows  or  the  little  balconies. 
We  spent  hours  in  the  Englischergarten,  sitting  on  the 
banks  of  the  Isar;  often  took  the  train  to  the  beautiful 

262 


fl_   N     c     E     s —    °     R     s 

Isarthal  and  spent  the  day  in  the  woods;  or  sailed  on  one 
of  the  lakes  with  the  tumbled  glittering  peaks  of  the 
Alps  always  in  sight.  We  visited  Ludwig's  castles  to 
gether,  attended  peasants'  festivals  in  the  mountains, 
lunching  in  some  dilapidated  old  garden  of  a  Gasthaus. 
And  of  course  we  went  constantly  to  the  opera.  It  was 
positive  heaven  for  a  time,  and  as  romantic  as  the  heart  of 
any  romantic  idiot  could  wish.  I  was  so  happy  I  could  not 
even  think,  even  when  I  was  alone.  I  simply  sat  like  one 
in  a  trance  and  gazed  into  space,  vague  rose-colored  dreams 
turning  the  slow  wheel  of  my  brain.  No  one  paid  any 
attention  to  us.  Everybody  in  the  pension  was  studying 
something;  we  avoided  the  American  church  and  consulate 
and  even  the  Baroness  L.  We  were  determined  to  have 
our  blissful  dream  unvulgarized  by  gossip. 

4<  There  is  no  doubt  that  for  a  time  my  young  enthusiasm 
gave  him  back  a  flicker  of  the  romance  of  his  own  youth, 
but  of  course  it  couldn't  last.  I  hardly  know  when  it  was 
I  began  to  realize  that  the  whole  base  of  his  nature  was 
honeycombed  with  ennui,  and  that  any  structure  reared 
upon  it  might  topple  at  a  moment's  notice.  I  had  been 
steeped  to  the  eyes  in  the  present.  I  had  no  wish  to  marry. 
Marriage  was  prosaic.  Life  was  a  fairy  tale,  why  materi 
alize  it  ?  I  soon  discovered  that  man's  capacity  for  living 
on  air  is  limited,  and  I  had  almost  yielded  to  his  entreaties 
to  cross  to  England  where  we  could  marry  without  tire 
some  formalities,  when  one  day — this  was  perhaps  a  month 
after  we  had  met — he  was  late  at  a  tryst.  I  lived  a  life 
time  in  five  minutes.  When  he  arrived  he  was  so  apologet 
ic  and  so  charming  that  if  I  had  been  an  older  woman  I 
should  have  known  that  something  was  wrong.  The  next 
day,  as  it  happened,  I  had  to  go  to  bed  with  influenza,  and 

263 


ANCESTORS 

wrote  him  that  I  might  not  get  out  for  a  week.  He  wrote 
twice  a  day  and  sent  me  flowers.  On  the  fourth  morning 
I  felt  so  much  better  that  I  sent  him  a  note  by  a  dinstmann 
telling  him  that  I  should  lunch  on  the  terrace  of  the  Neue 
Burse  restaurant.  He  was  not  awaiting  me;  nor  did  he 
come  at  all.  Later  I  saw  him  driving  with  an  astonish 
ingly  handsome  woman;  who  looked  as  if  she  had  been 
born  without  crudities  or  illusions. 

"  There  are  no  words  to  express  the  tortures  of  jealousy 
and  disgust  that  I  endured  that  afternoon.  But  at  five 
came  a  note  stating  that  he  had  been  out  of  town  on  a 
lonely  voyage  of  discovery,  and  begging  me  to  come  for  a 
cup  of  chocolate  at  the  Cafe  Luitpold — where  we  had  gone 
so  often  to  watch  the  motley  crowd.  I  went,  wrath  and 
horror  struggling  in  my  heart  with  the  sanguineness  of 
woman.  He  had  never  been  so  charming  and  so  plausible. 
I  let  him  go  on,  exulting  in  the  discovery  that  he  was  a  liar, 
for  I  knew  that  it  pushed  me  a  step  towards  recovery. 
When  he  had  finished  I  told  him  that  I  had  seen  him  in  the 
Hofgarten.  I  never  shall  forget  how  white  he  turned. 
But  if  he  had  been  an  adventurer  his  mind  could  not  have 
been  more  nimble.  He  recovered  himself  instantly,  ad 
mitted  the  impeachment,  insisted  that  he  had  just  re 
turned  when  I  saw  him,  had  accepted  a  seat  in  the  lady's 
carriage  as  he.  was  entering  his  hotel — before  he  had  time 
to  go  to  his  room  and  find  my  note.  I  knew  that  he  was 
lying,  but  when  he  changed  the  subject  to  impassioned 
pleading  that  I  would  cross  to  England  at  once,  I  was  forced 
to  believe  that  he  loved  me. 

"  But  I  was  miserably  undecided.  Moreover,  I  could  not 
leave  Munich.  My  quarterly  remittance  was  unaccount 
ably  delayed.  I  told  him  this.  He  knew  that  I  would  not 

264 


ANCESTORS 

move  without  my  own  money,  but  he  sent  off  several 
cables.  The  reply  came  that  the  drafts  had  gone  and 
must  have  been  lost  in  the  mails.  Duplicates  would  be 
oent.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 

"  I  suppose  that  money  enters  into  all  things.  It  certain 
ly  ruled  my  destiny.  The  fortnight  that  ensued  I  never 
think  of  if  I  can  help  it.  He  was  desperately  bored  with 
Munich,  but  too  polite  to  leave  me  alone.  I  saw  him  with 
the  woman  three  or  four  times.  She  was  an  Austrian  who 
did  not  visit  the  Baroness  L.,  and  she  was  staying  at  his 
hotel.  There  was  no  doubt  that  he  still  wished  to  marry 
me,  but  I  was  in  even  less  doubt  that  his  ruined  nature 
would  yield  more  and  more  to  this  sort  of  fascination  when 
my  novelty  had  worn  thin.  Before  my  money  arrived  my 
mind  was  made  up.  I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  the  seduc 
tion  of  his  manner  and  voice — he  was  a  past-master  in 
the  art  of  making  love.  I  wrote  him  that  I  would  not 
marry  a  man  I  could  not  trust,  and  fled  to  Vienna,  telling 
my  Munich  bankers  to  keep  my  letters  until  I  sent  for 
them.  For  two  weeks  I  travelled  madly  through  Austria 
and  Hungary.  Never  for  a  moment  was  I  free  of  tor 
ments.  Never  before  had  I  actually  comprehended  what 
love  meant.  I  hardly  ate  or  slept.  I  arrived  at  a  place 
only  to  leave  it.  The  hotel-keepers  thought  I  was  the 
American  tourist  overtaken  by  that  final  madness  they  had 
always  anticipated.  When  the  fortnight  finished  I  looked 
back  upon  an  eternity  in  purgatory.  I  surrendered ;  ac  least 
he  loved  me  in  his  way.  He  had  never  ceased  to  urge  our 
marriage.  Who  could  say  that  I  might  not  be  fascinating 
enough  to  hold  him  ?  It  was  worth  the  trial,  and  I  despised 
myself  for  laying  down  my  arms  without  a  struggle. 

"  I  took  the  Oriental  express  from  Budapest,  but  during 

265 


A    J*__<^_  _JLJL     TORS 

the  journey,  swift  as  it  was,  I  underwent  certain  reactions. 
I  knew  that  he  must  have  left  Munich,  that  all  I  could  do 
was  to  take  a  letter  to  his  bank  and  ask  that  it  be  forwarded. 
I  wrote  the  letter  as  soon  as  I  arrived,  but  decided  to  post 
it;  my  pride  revolted  at  facing  the  sharp  eye  of  the  person 
that  handled  the  letters  of  credit.  I  had  gone  to  the  bank 
with  Prestage  more  than  once. 

"As  soon  as  the  letter  was  posted  I  experienced  a  certain 
measure  of  peace,  having  done  all  I  could.  Nevertheless, 
to  sit  still  was  impossible,  and  I  set  out  for  a  walk.  It  was 
one  of  those  brilliant  clear  crisp  days  with  which  that  high 
plateau  can  put  even  California  to  the  blush.  I  saw  that 
all  the  tram-cars  were  crowded,  and  that  carriage  loads 
of  people  had  flower  pieces.  I  asked  if  it  were  a  Feiertag 
and  was  reminded  that  it  was  the  1st  of  November,  All 
Saints'  Day;  Munich  was  on  its  way  to  the  several  ceme 
teries  to  decorate  the  graves.  I  had  seen  All  Saints'  Day 
in  Venice  and  felt  a  mild  curiosity  to  compare  the  Bavarian 
festival  with  the  Italian.  So  I  walked  out  to  the  great  Alt 
Sud  Friedhof  where  so  many  celebrities  are  buried,  and 
where  I  fancied  the  scene  would  be  most  complete.  When 
I  arrived  at  the  entrance  the  frames  that  had  been  set 
up  in  the  outer  court  were  almost  denuded  of  the  flower 
pieces  the  countrywomen  had  brought  in  to  sell,  but  I 
bought  a  wreath  at  the  solicitation  of  a  peasant  in  a  pict 
uresque  head-dress,  and  followed  the  crowd.  The  cem 
etery  is  on  three  sides  of  the  entrance  and  enclosed  by 
a  high  brick  wall.  I  stood  a  moment  at  the  inner  official 
entrance,  hardly  knowing  which  way  to  turn;  but  seeing 
a  number  of  staring  people  in  a  corridor  on  my  right  that 
faced  one  great  division  of  the  cemetery,  I  was  turning  into 
it  mechanically  when  a  policeman  waved  me  back  with  the 

266 


ANCESTORS 

information  that  the  entrance  was  at  the  other  end.  Bat 
not  until  I  had  seen,  stared,  and  gasped.  In  an  alcove  was 
a  figure,  almost  upright,  that,  in  the  first  dazed  seconds 
I  took  to  be  a  wax-work,  but  immediately  knew  to  be  a 
dead  woman.  As  I  almost  ran  out  I  recalled  that  in 
Bavaria  the  dead  are  taken  from  the  house  within  six 
hours,  and  are  kept  in  a  public  mortuary  for  three  days, 
or  until  all  danger  of  premature  interment  is  over. 

"I  do  not  think  I  should  mind,  particularly,  seeing  a 
ghost;  I  am  sure  my  mental  curiosity  would  get  the  better 
of  my  unwilling  flesh;  but  I  have  a  real  horror  of  the  corpse. 
I  tried  to  forget  the  grotesque  exhibition  I  had  stumbled 
upon,  in  the  novel  and  interesting  scene  about  me.  The 
long  aisles  of  the  cemetery  were  filled  with  well-dressed 
people,  some  strolling,  others  decorating,  all  apparently  en 
joying  themselves.  Almost  all  of  the  graves  and  monu 
ments  were  bedecked,  and  presented  a  most  Elysian  ap 
pearance  with  the  masses  of  bright  flowers,  the  streamers 
of  wide  ribbon,  the  lighted  lanterns,  many  of  them  antique 
and  beautiful,  above  all  the  tall  flambeaux,  whose  flames 
looked  white  and  unearthly  against  the  bright  atmosphere. 
Above  was  a  deep-blue  sky  with  those  thick  low  masses  of 
snow-white  clouds  one  sees  only  in  Bavaria. 

"  But  that  grotesque  little  figure  with  its  shrunken  yellow 
face  under  the  pitiless  sun  glare,  its  bony  old  hands,  at 
tached  I  knew,  to  the  string  of  a  distant  bell,  did  not  leave 
my  mind  for  an  instant.  I  walked  down  every  path,  I  ex 
amined  every  interesting  monument,  I  even  went  into  the 
other  divisions  where  there  are  so  many  statues  in  the 
alcove  tombs;  but  all  in  vain.  I  felt  that  I  should  see  that 
old  woman  to  the  end  of  my  days.  I  could  recall  the  very 
pattern  of  the  cheap  black  lace  of  her  cap.  There  was  but 
'7  267 


A       N      C    ^E^     S     _7^     O       R       S 

one  way  to  rid  my  mind  of  the  obsession,  and  that  was 
to  return  to  the  corridor,  stand  in  front  of  every  earthen 
figure,  remain  there  until  my  mind  was  satiated,  in  con 
sequence  delivered. 

"I  set  my  teeth  and  went  back  to  the  Leichenhalle.  Of 
course  there  were  many  to  keep  me  company.  I  looked 
long  and  unflinchingly  at  two  gentlemen  in  evening  clothes, 
an  old  maid  dressed  for  once  on  earth  as  a  bride,  a  young 
woman  and  her  infant.  The  coffins  lay  on  an  inclined 
plane  and  the  edges  were  so  concealed  by  a  mass  of  flow 
ers  and  greenery  that  the  ghastly  company  looked  as  if 
half  rising  to  hold  a  reception. 

"And  then  I  stood  for  I  do  not  know  how  long  before  the 
alcove  next  to  the  old  woman  beside  the  exit,  not  knowing 
whether  I  were  turned  to  stone  or  sitting  by  the  Rosewater 
marsh  indulging  in  some  wild  morbid  flight  of  imagination. 

"  For  there  he  was.  For  a  second  I  did  not  fully  recognize 
him,  he  was  so  yellow,  his  lower  jaw  had  so  hideously 
retreated,  completely  altering  the  slightly  cynical  expres 
sion  of  the  mouth.  The  bright  gay  sunlight  searched  out 
every  line  carved  by  too  much  living,  the  little  wrinkles 
about  the  eyes,  the  weakness  of  the  handsome  polished 
hands.  He  looked  unspeakably  aged  and  hideous.  I 
had  never  dreamed  that  a  brilliant  mind  could  leave  so 
miserable  a  shell  behind  it,  that  the  body  was  such  a  mean 
poverty-stricken  thing,  a  thing  to  be  thrust  out  of  sight 
as  soon  as  it  had  fulfilled  its  work  of  balking  and  ruining 
the  soul.  I  had  never  looked  at  Veronica  after  her  death, 
and  only  once  at  my  father,  wrho  had  not  horrified  me,  for 
here  the  undertaker  has  arts  unknown,  apparently,  in 
Bavaria. 

"  My  love  died  without  a  gasp.  I  shrank  and  curdled 
268 


A       N      C     JL__  J>_    T    jO R S 

with  horror  that  I  had  loved  that  hideous  clay.  What 
he  had  aroused  in  me  was  merely  the  response  of 
youth  to  the  masculine  magnet,  a  trifle  more  specialized 
than  I  had  heretofore  encountered;  the  inevitable  fever 
when  infection  appears.  All  personal  feeling  vanished 
out  of  me  so  completely  that  even  while  I  stood  there 
I  felt  the  same  pity  for  him  that  I  had  for  the  others, 
the  helpless  dead  so  mercilessly  exposed  to  the  vulgar 
indifferent  crowd.  If  I  could  have  hurried  him  into 
the  privacy  of  the  grave  I  would  have  exerted  every  ef 
fort,  but  before  the  laws  of  the  country  I  was  powerless. 
As  I  was  leaving  the  cemetery  I  discovered  that  I  still 
carried  the  wreath.  I  went  back  and  added  it  to  the 
bank  of  greenery  which  his  valet  no  doubt  had  provided. 

"  When  I  returned  to  my  pension  I  sent  for  the  man  and 
learned  that  he  and  the  Consul-General  of  the  United 
States  had  done  all  that  the  authorities  had  left  in  their 
hands.  The  body  was  to  be  shipped  to  New  York  within 
the  month.  He  had  died  of  Bright's  disease.  It  had 
declared  itself  a  day  or  two  after  I  left.  After  ten  days 
of  intermittent  suffering,  during  which  the  valet  had  felt 
no  apprehension,  he  had  died  suddenly. 

"  I  left  Munich  the  same  day.  If  I  have  failed  to  give 
you  any  adequate  impression  of  my  agonies,  it  will  be  next 
to  impossible  to  describe  my  subsequent  states  of  mind. 
Indeed  I  have  little  remembrance  of  my  mental  condition 
during  the  weeks  of  travel  in  Switzerland  and  Italy  that 
followed.  I  was  deliberately  living  up  on  the  surface  of 
my  nature,  indifferent  to  what  was  awaiting  recognition 
below,  although  I  knew  it  to  be  nothing  unwrelcome. 
Then,  finally,  I  felt  the  time  had  come  when  I  could  draw 
aside  the  black  curtain  which  I  had  hung  for  decency's 

269 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

sake  between  my  consciousness  and  my  depths,  and  tell 
the  new  guest  to  come  forth.  The  guest  was  the  liberty 
I  had  waited  for  all  my  life.  I  felt  indescribably  free, 
light,  strong.  The  tyranny  of  love,  even  while  it  was  but 
the  love  idea,  that  had  shackled  me  for  so  many  years, 
narrowing  my  interests,  warping  my  imagination,  clouding 
the  future,  was  dissipated  at  last.  I  had  paid  the  tribute 
to  my  youth  and  sex.  I  felt  really  alive  for  the  first  time, 
existing  in  the  actual  not  in  the  dream  world.  There  are 
women  and  women;  and  quite  enough  of  the  fine  old 
domestic  order  to  keep  the  world  going;  but  there  is  a 
vast  and  increasing  number  that  are  never  really  alive 
and  worth  anything  to  themselves  or  life  until  they  have 
worked  through  that  necessary  madness,  buried  it,  and 
settled  down  to  those  infinite  interests  upon  which  mat 
rimony,  happy  or  otherwise,  bolts  a  thousand  doors. 
Some  day  I  will  tell  you  my  theory  of  what  such  women 
are  really  born  for,  but  you  have  had  enough  for  one  night 
and  the  story  is  finished." 


XI 


,  between  the  fog  and  the  story,  felt  con- 
gealed  to  the  marrow.  He  leaned  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  stared  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  It  was  the 
second  time  that  the  dark  and  carefully  guarded  recesses 
of  the  human  soul  had  been  opened  to  him,  but  Zeal's 
at  least  were  a  man's,  and  he  had  listened  to  him  with  a 
certain  passive  acceptance  cut  with  lightning-like  visions 
of  his  own  ruined  future.  He  had  never  been  invited  into 
a  woman's  crypts  before,  and  he  hardly  knew  whether  he 
were  gratified  or  repelled.  She  had  been  as  brutally 
truthful  as  he  would  have  expected  her  to  be  if  she 
spoke  at  all,  but  he  doubted  if  he  understood  her  as  well 
as  he  had  expected.  He  had  been  assured  that  she  had 
once  at  least  possessed  the  capacity  for  intense  feeling, 
but  what  was  the  result  ?  And  were  the  depths  frozen 
solid  ?  Or  merely  buried  alive  ? 

He  remarked  after  a  moment:  "I  cannot  think  of  any 
thing  appropriate  to  say,  so  perhaps  it  is  as  well  to  say 
nothing.  I  certainly  do  not  feel  that  you  are  in  any  need 
of  my  sympathies,  for  you  are  quite  terribly  strong.  When 
did  all  this  happen  ?" 

"About  eight  months  before  I  went  to  England." 
"What  did  you  do  with  yourself  in  the  interval?" 
"I   climbed   in   the   Alps    a    bit,  then   went   to  Rome 
and  studied  the  Campagna,  then  travelled  somewhat  in 

271 


ANCESTORS 

Spain.  By  that  time  the  desire  for  California  had  grown 
insistent.  The  novelty  of  Europe  had  worn  thin.  I  was 
tired  of  playing  at  doing  things,  and  only  at  home  could  I 
really  accomplish  anything.  I  suddenly  made  up  my 
mind  to  pay  the  long-delayed  visit  to  England,  stop 
ping  in  Paris  by  the  way  for  frocks.  I  doubt  if  I  ever 
enjoyed  anything  more  than  those  three  weeks  in  Paris, 
where  I  completely  forgot  every  unpleasant  association. 
It  was  my  first  fine  wardrobe,  my  first  opportunity  to  ex 
perience  to  the  fulj  the  delight  of  clothes.  I  have  felt 
quite  happy  here.  (California  is  so  far  from  every  other 
place  that  it  is  almost  like  living  on  a  detached  planet. 
You  forget  the  rest  of  the  world  for  months  at  a  time. 
For  days  after  I  returned  I  wandered  about  out-of-doors 
in  a  gay  irresponsible  mood,  and  carolled  all  over  the 
house.  Of  course  it  was  nothing  but  the  electricity  of 
the  climate  and  that  I  was  in  my  own  State  once  more 
and  took  an  insane  pride  in  it.  You  do  not  even  need  to 
be  born  here  for  that;  it  comes  with  the  inevitable  sense  of 
isolation.  You  will  feel  it  in  time.  If  I  had  not  known  that 
so  certainly  I  should  never  have  dared  to  urge  you  to  come." 
Gwynne  smiled  with  a  pardonable  cynicism;  but  while 
he  was  not  unwilling  the  conversation  should  turn  upon 
himself,  his  curiosity  was  not  satisfied.  The  fog  had  gone 
and  the  moon  had  risen.  He  could  see  Isabel  quite 
plainly.  She  had  turned  her  head  and  was  gazing  out 
over  the  great  expanse  desolated  by  the  moonlight,  and  he 
studied  her  profile  for  the  first  time,  often  as  he  had  ob 
served  it.  To-night  with  the  moonlight  on  it  and  against 
the  dark  hills  it  was  almost  repellently  unmodern  in  its 
sharply  cut  regularity,  the  classic  modelling  of  the  eye- 
socket  and  chin,  the  nose  with  its  slight  arch.  Her  hair 

272 


ANCESTORS 

had  fallen  from  its  pins  and  hung  in  a  braid,  its  length  con 
cealed  by  her  position,  and  making  the  effect  of  a  queue. 
She  had  long  since  taken  off  her  hat  and  wrapped  its  veil 
about  her  head.  The  veil  had  slipped  and  might  easily 
have  been  mistaken  for  a  ribbon  confining  the  queue  at 
the  base  of  the  head.  For  an  instant  Gwynne's  senses 
swam.  He  recalled  the  portraits  of  their  Revolutionary 
ancestors  in  the  house  on  Russian  Hill.  It  might  have 
been  a  medallion  suspended  before  him.  He  drew  in  his 
breath;  then  his  eye  fell  to  the  short  thin  sensitive  upper 
lip,  rarely  quiet  for  all  her  extraordinary  repose;  to  the  full 
enticing  under  lip,  and  the  little  black  moles.  Then  his 
gaze  wandered  down  to  the  rough  shooting-jacket,  to  the 
rubber  boots  reaching  to  her  waist,  and  he  only  restrained 
himself  from  laughing  aloud  because  he  feared  to  rush 
down  the  curtain  before  that  secretive  nature. 

"Then  you  have  no  faith  in  love  as  the  best  thing  in 
the  world  ?"  he  asked. 

She  turned  upon  him  her  clear  dreaming  eyes.  "I 
have  faith  enough  in  love,  as  I  have  faith  in  death,  or  any 
other  of  the  uncontrovertible  facts,  as  well  as  in  its  mission. 
But  not  as  the  best  thing  in  life;  not  for  my  sort  at  least. 
Not  for  even  the  domestic,  for  that  matter,  unless  they  are 
utterly  brainless.  I  believe  that  from  the  beginning  of 
time  the  misery  of  the  world  has  been  caused  by  the 
superstition  that  love  was  all.  It  must  continue  to  be  the 
fate  of  the  child-bearing  woman,  I  suppose — for  a  while  at 
least;  but  others  have  blundered  upon  the  fact  that  it  is  a 
mere  incident,  and  are  far  happier  in  consequence.  To 
women  like  Anabel  freedom  means  an  indulgent  husband 
and  plenty  of  money.  To  others  it  means  something  of 
which  the  Anabels  know  the  bare  nomenclature:  an 

273 


ANCESTORS 

absolute  freedom  of  the  soul,  of  which  the  outer  inde 
pendence  is  but  the  symbol.  As  I  said,  we  only  find  it 
when  we  have  finished  with  the  bogie  of  love.  It  is  a 
modern  enough  discovery.  Think  of  the  poor  old  maids 
of  the  generations  behind  us,  who,  failing  to  marry, 
collapsed  into  insignificance  instead  of  revelling  in  their 
deliverance.  And  what  humiliation  to  know  that  in  your 
youth  you  are  really  wooed  for  the  sake  of  the  race  alone, 
no  matter  what  the  delusions.  If  any  one  doubts  it  let 
him  compare  the  matrimonial  opportunities  of  the  ugly 
maternal  girl  and  the  ugly  clever  girl.  When  clever 
women  realize  that  they  are  a  sex  apart  and  wait  until 
their  first  youth  at  least  is  over  before  selecting  a  com 
panion  of  the  sex  that  I  am  quite  willing  to  concede  must 
always  interest  us  more  than  our  own,  and  no  doubt  is 
necessary  to  our  completion,  then  will  the  world  have  taken 
its  first  step  towards  real  happiness." 

Gwynne  repressed  his  gorge  and  answered  practically: 
"Not  a  bad  idea  if  two  were  really  suited,  for  no  doubt 
companionship  is  one  of  the  best  things  in  life,  and  a 
woman  is  more  useful  in  many  ways  to  a  man  than  a 
partner  of  his  own  sex.  It  is  even  apparent  that  she  does 
equally  well  in  certain  varieties  of  sport.  I  suppose  the 
more  experience  a  man  has  had  of  life  the  more  he  hesitates 
to  define  what  love  really  is.  One  has  attacks  of  such  a 
severity  and  one  recovers  so  completely!  Doubtless  Scho 
penhauer  was  right:  it  is  merely  the  furious  determination 
of  the  race  to  persist.  Spencer  tells  us  that  it  is  'ab 
solutely  antecedent  to  all  relative  experience  whatever/ 
Companionship — yes — perhaps — " 

"It  is  necessary  to  a  man;  but  by  no  means  to  all 
women — " 

274 


A      NCESTORS 

"Not  for  yourself,  you  mean.  You  are  still  blunted 
and  somewhat  disgusted — 

"I  have  dismissed  the  question.  You  cannot  imagine 
how  happy  I  feel  every  morning  when  I  wake  up,  and  every 
night  when  I  go,  always  rather  tired,  into  my  comfortable 
little  bed,  knowing  that  I  shall  sleep  like  an  infant.  I  love 
work.  I  love  out-door  life.  I  love  the  long  evenings  with 
my  books  and  my  thoughts,  and  my  plans  for  the  future — 
all  my  own.  I  revel  in  the  thought  that  I  can  never  be 
unhappy  again,  because  now  I  love  no  one.  I  loved  my 
poor  father,  and  suffered  with  him  in  his  fits  of  repentance 
and  shame.  I  loved,  of  course,  that  man.  I  have  ab 
solutely  nothing  in  common  with  Paula,  and  my  mother 
is  merely  a  pretty  memory.  I  am  fond  of  Anabel  and 
perhaps  several  other  friends — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leslie; 
but  that  sort  of  affection  does  not  go  very  deep.  Love 
is  synonymous  with  selfishness  and  slavery — slavery  be 
cause  you  no  longer  own  yourself.  My  brother-in-law 
adores  my  sister,  makes  a  great  point  of  his  fidelity,,  be 
cause  before  his  marriage  he  was  always  flaunting  some 
painted  female,  without  which  possession,  a  few  years  ago, 
a  San  Franciscan  felt  that  he  would  lose  the  respect  of 
his  fellow-citizens.  But  Lyster's  reform  makes  him  as 
exacting  as  a  Turk.  If  my  poor  silly  little  sister  smiles  at 
some  fugitive  thought  he  demands  to  know  what  it  is, 
and  if  she  cannot  remember  he  sulks  for  a  day.  He  would 
possess  her  very  thoughts.  She  dares  not  have  a  man 
friend,  talk  to  a  man  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time.  He 
won't  let  her  belong  to  a  club — clubs  are  all  very  well 
for  other  women,  but  his  wife  is  not  as  other  women. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  has  long  since  let  her  persuade  him 
that  he  is  the  most  marvellous  of  men,  and,  in  consequence, 

275 


INCEST O^    R       S 

permits  her  to  make  every  sort  of  mean  little  sacrifice 
while  he  spends  his  money  on  himself.  Her  eyes  are  in  a 
measure  open  now,  but  it  is  too  late,  and  she  rebels  in  the 
usual  futile  feminine  way.  There  are  millions  like  them. 
You  will  meet  Anne  Montgomery.  She  is  thirty-five 
now,  quite  plain,  and  makes  a  living  as  a  sort  of  itinerant 
housekeeper  and  caterer.  She  was  a  most  lovely  girl, 
with  a  wild-rose  complexion  and  starlike  eyes,  and  full  of 
life  and  buoyant  hope.  Her  great  talent  was  for  the  vi 
olin,  and  she  dreamed  of  conquering  the  world.  Teachers 
told  her  that  with  the  proper  study  she  could  at  least 
become  a  professional  of  the  first  rank,  although  she 
lacked  the  genius  of  creation.  Her  parents  and  an  older 
sister — one  of  the  plain,  domestic,  unselfish  kind,  whose 
pleasure  is  in  living  for  others — were  horrified  at  the  bare 
suggestion.  Not  only  because  they  were  old-fashioned — 
some  of  the  most  old-fashioned  people  on  earth  are  in  San 
Francisco — but  because  it  would  mean  separation  from 
their  idol.  They  surrounded  her  like  a  flaming  belt,  not 
even  a  man  could  get  at  her.  They  worshipped  her  as  if 
she  was  a  being  of  another  world,  devoured  her;  all  the 
treasures  of  life  were  centred  in  her.  That  there  might 
be  the  less  temptation,  they  never  took  her  to  Europe; 
and  gradually  induced  her  to  lay  aside  the  instrument  al 
together.  She  was  very  sweet  and  gentle,  and  she  loved 
them  and  submitted  (I  would  have  throttled  them  all). 
But  she  faded  rapidly,  lost  her  lovely  coloring  and  anima 
tion,  and  she  had  no  other  beauty.  Then  her  father 
speculated  and  failed.  While  they  were  undergoing  real 
privations  the  influenza  swooped  down  upon  them  and 
carried  off  the  three  older  members  of  the  family  in  a 
week.  Anne  Montgomery  is  the  most  conspicuous  victim 

276 


A       N      C       £_     S       T       0       R       S 

of  what  are  generally  supposed  to  be  the  higher  affections 
that  I  know.  They  were  just  common-place  animals — 
those  three — nothing  more." 

"Real  happiness  may  lie  in  forgetting  that  love  is  selfish, 
and  in  overlooking  the  bitter  in  the  sweet." 

Isabel  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "If  one  can  be  happy 
without  love  why  run  the  risks  ?" 

They  felt  that  they  had  exhausted  the  subject  for  the 
present  and  there  was  a  long  silence.  Gwynne's  eyes 
wandered  over  the  inexpressibly  desolate  and  sinister  land 
scape.  The  intense  brilliancy  of  the  moon  seemed  to  press 
darkness  down  upon  the  earth.  It  was  true  that  every 
object  was  as  sharp  of  outline  as  if  cut  against  crystal,  but 
they  were  a  hard  dark  brown:  the  hills  that  jutted  out  into 
the  windings  of  the  marsh,  the  marsh  itself,  the  more 
distant  mountains.  It  looked  like  a  landscape  upon 
which  the  sun  had  set  for  ever,  smitten  with  death — or  not 
yet  born  into  the  solar  system;  some  terrible  formless 
menacing  globe  on  the  edge  of  the  Universe.  As  he  had 
approached  San  Francisco  on  the  afternoon  of  his  arrival, 
standing  on  the  forward  deck  of  the  boat  in  a  high  wind, 
he  had  thought  it  the  most  stranded  lonely  city  he  had  ever 
seen.  He  recalled  the  impression  now,  and  in  a  flash  he  ap 
preciated  the  Californian's  attitude  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
the  effect  of  such  isolation  upon  the  character  of  a  peo 
ple  that  had  created  a  great  and  important  city  out  of  the 
wilderness,  and  in  half  a  century.  In  spite  of  the  obstinate 
aloofness  of  his  ego  he  felt  an  involuntary  thrill  of  pride  in 
his  connection  with  such  a  people;  and  hoped  it  might  be 
premonitory.  But  again  the  eerie  landscape  claimed  him 
and  he  became  aware  of  the  weird  night  sounds  that  broke 
out  with  violent  abruptness  after  intervals  of  throbbing 

277 


ANCESTORS 

quiet:  the  loud  honk-honk  of  geese,  the  shriek  of  loons,  the 
noisy  capricious  serenade  of  the  frogs.  He  experienced  a 
feeling  of  such  utter  isolation  that  he  almost  started  when 
Isabel  spoke. 

"These  waste  places  in  California  are  almost  terrifying 
by  moonlight,"  said  she.  "They  always  look  as  if  they 
were  brooding,  crouching,  concentrating  their  energies  for 
a  convulsion.  No  earthquake  country  can  be  quite  normal 
in  any  of  its  aspects,  nor  quite  beautiful.  Here  comes  the 
tide.  How  Mac  will  grumble  at  us!  But  he  is  sure  to 
have  kept  the  fire  going,  and  you  shall  have  a  cup  of  hot 
coffee  before  you  start  for  home." 


XII 


G WYNNE,  on  the  following  day,  was  making  a  late 
toilet,  and  in  anything  but  a  good-humor,  for  he  had 
grown  accustomed  to  early  rising,  when  he  received  a  note 
from  Isabel. 
It  ran: 

DEAR  PARTNER, — Anabel  has  just  told  me  over  the 
telephone  that  Tom  and  Mr.  Leslie  and  two  other  rep 
resentative  citizens  are  going  out  to  see  you  this  afternoon. 
I  have  the  ghost  of  an  idea  that  a  friendly  call  is  not  their 
only  object.  Do  be  plastic — it  is  better  in  the  beginning 
— until  you  know  your  ground.  Above  all,  don't  be  too 
English.  You  are  vastly  improved,  but  you  have  lapses. 

I  send  you  your  share  of  the  ducks.  Mariana's  rOast- 
ing  will  explain  our  pride  in  one  of  the  two  most  native 
of  our  products — the  next  time  we  go  to  San  Francisco 
I'll  take  you  to  the  market  and  we  will  sit  in  a  grimy  little 
balcony  restaurant  and  you  will  be  introduced  to  fried 
California  oysters. 

Please  consider  the  marsh  your  own;  and  whenever  you 
come,  remember  that  you  are  to  have  breakfast  or  supper 
with  me.  Are  you  quite  comfortable  ?  If  anything  is 
wrong  I  will  go  over  and  interview  Mariana  and  the  Jap. 
Of  course  the  latter  will  appropriate  your  cigarettes  and 
books;  he  is  probably  a  prince,  and  far  from  condescending 
to  steal,  he  will  take  them  as  his  right;  and  his  hauteur  may 
match  your  own  at  times.  Moreover,  he  may  decamp  any 

279 


A      N      C       E       S       T      0       R       S 

morning  without  giving  notice — Lafcadio  Hearn  dwells 
upon  the  impermanency  of  the  Japanese,  and  we  can  all 
bear  him  out.  But  on  the  other  hand  the  Jap  will  keep 
your  house  cleaner  than  any  other  sort  of  servant,  and  he 
can  be  both  amiable  and  alert  when  he  chooses.  I  merely 
warn  you,  for  I  know  nothing  of  your  present  homme  de 
chambre  beyond  the  recommendation  of  my  Chuma,  who 
is  amiable  to  the  verge  of  imbecility.  If  he  disappears, 
let  me  know  at  once,  for  I  really  want  to  make  you  com 
fortable  and  contented  in  what  I  know  must  seem  to  you 
little  more  than  a  beautiful  wilderness  peopled  by  ambi 
tious  barbarians.  But  wait  till  you  know  San  Francisco! 

ISABEL. 

Gwynne  smiled  at  the  form  of  address  and  the  ex 
pressions  of  concern  in  his  welfare;  but  he  scowled  twice 
over  the  admonition  to  be  plastic  and  American. 

"I'll  be  what  I  damn  please,"  he  announced,  aloud, 
much  to  the  surprise  of  Imura  Kisaburo  Hinomoto  who 
entered  at  the  moment  with  his  shaving  water. 

Nevertheless,  when  his  visitors  arrived,  late  in  the  after 
noon,  his  natural  courtesy,  and  the  reflection  that  he  had 
not  come  to  America  to  fail,  induced  him  to  receive  the 
four  with  something  like  warmth,  and  to  place  his  cigars 
and  whiskey — he  already  knew  better  than  to  offer  them 
tea — at  their  immediate  disposal.  They  sat  on  the  porch 
facing  the  mountain,  and  for  a  few  moments  the  conver 
sation  was  confined  to  the  weather  and  the  scenery, 
giving  Gwynne  an  opportunity  to  observe  his  guests  with 
some  minuteness.  Judge  Leslie  and  young  Colton  he  had 
already  met,  and  he  liked  the  former,  a  pleasant  shrewd 
tactful  man,  who  was  one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  the 
northern  bar,  and  universally  admitted  to  be  "dead 

280 


ANCESTORS 

straight."  So  "straight,"  indeed,  was  he  that  his  term  of 
judgeship  had  been  brief.  He  had  been  carried  to  the 
bench  on  an  independent  ticket,  but  the  reform  movement 
subsiding,  he  could  obtain  re-election  only  by  bargaining 
with  political  bosses,  and  this  he  refused  to  do;  but  after 
the  fashion  of  the  country  he  retained  his  title.  He  had  a 
loose  hairy  benignant  face  with  a  humorous  but  pene 
trating  eye  and  the  usual  domelike  brow.  His  body  had 
grown  unwieldy  from  years  and  lack  of  exercise,  and  his 
clothes  were  old-fashioned  and,  generally,  dusty.  He 
voted  the  Republican  ticket  and  was  not  too  well  pleased 
with  his  son-in-law  who  was  a  red  Democrat  and  rising 
daily  in  the  good  graces  of  the  party  bosses. 

This  young  man  who  was  sipping  his  plain  soda  and 
commenting  on  neither  the  scenery  nor  the  weather,  had 
inspired  Gwynne  with  a  certain  interest  and  curiosity. 
He  was  thirty  but  looked  little  over  twenty,  and  his  large 
limpid  blue  eyes  were  as  guileless  as  a  child's.  He  had  a 
long  pale  face  with  an  indifferent  complexion  and  the 
common  American  lantern  jaw.  His  hair  and  brows  and 
lashes  were  paler  than  straw,  and  his  long  lank  figure  was 
without  either  distinction  or  muscularity.  Nevertheless, 
there  was  a  curious  suggestion  of  cynical  power  in  his  im 
passive  face  and  lolling  inches,  and  Gwynne  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  would  be  useful  as  a  study  in  politics. 

Mr.  Wheaton,  one  of  the  present  "City  Fathers,"  a 
position  he  had  occupied  with  brief  intermittences  for 
many  years,  had  hard  china-blue  eyes  and  a  straight 
mouth,  in  a  large  square  smoothly-shaven  face.  He  had 
crossed  the  plains  in  the  Fifties  from  the  inhospitable 
State  of  Maine,  sought  fortune  in  the  gold  diggings  with 
moderate  success,  avoided  San  Francisco  with  a  farmer's 

281 


ANCESTORS 

dread  of  "sharpers,"  and  drifting  to  the  hamlet  at  the 
head  of  Rosewater  Creek  had  opened  a  small  store  for 
general  merchandise.  Frugality  and  a  shrewd  knowledge 
of  what  men  wanted  and  women  thought  they  wanted  had 
increased  his  capital  so  rapidly  that  in  five  years  he  had 
converted  a  wing  of  the  store  into  a  bank.  To-day  he  was 
a  power.  His  wife  was  the  leader  of  Rosewater  society 
and  attended  first  nights  in  San  Francisco. 

Mr.  Larkin  T.  Boutts  was  new  to  Gwynne,  although 
his  status  was  easily  to  be  inferred  from  the  constant  ref 
erences  in  the  local  press.  He  was  a  fat  little  man  who 
sat  habitually  with  a  hand  on  either  knee,  which  he  clawed 
absently  both  in  conversation  and  thought.  Otherwise  his 
attitude  was  one  of  extreme  repose,  even  watchfulness. 
He  was  excessively  neat,  almost  fashionable  in  his  dress, 
which — Gwynne  was  to  observe  in  the  course  of  time — 
was  invariably  brown.  He  had  a  small  pointed  beard  and 
a  sharp  direct  dishonest  eye.  He  was  the  leading  hard 
ware  merchant  of  Rosewater  and  owned  the  hotel  and  the 
opera  -  house.  His  business  methods  had  never  been 
above  criticism,  and  his  politics  drove  the  San  Francisco 
correspondent,  during  legislative  sittings,  into  a  display 
of  caustic  virtue  which  gave  the  newspaper  he  represented 
just  the  necessary  smack  of  reform  and  did  not  hurt  its 
inspiration  in  the  least.  For  Mr.  Boutts  was  too  sharp 
for  the  law,  and  all  his  sins  were  forgiven  him  on  account 
of  his  genuine  devotion  to  Rosewater.  Far  from  battening 
on  her,  after  the  fashion  of  the  San  Francisco  cormorant, 
he  had  never  taken  a  dollar  out  of  her  that  he  had  not  re 
turned  a  hundred-fold,  and  he  was  the  author  of  much  of 
her  wealth. 

This  gentleman  was  the  first  to  indicate  that  they  had 
282 


ANCESTORS 

not  driven  out  to  Lumalitas  to  discuss  the  weather  and 
the  scenery. 

"Best  come  to  business,"  he  said,  abruptly.  "Judge, 
will  you  do  the  talking  ?" 

But  Judge  Leslie,  who  was  a  modest  man,  waved  his 
hand  deprecatingly.  "The  idea  is  yours,  sir,  and  yours  is 
the  right  to  state  the  case." 

The  host  hastily  poured  whiskey-and-soda  lest  he  should 
look  haughtily  expectant. 

"It's  just  this,  Mr.  Gwynne,"  began  Boutts,  in  his  suave 
even  tones.  "We  have  seen  your  ads.  We  know  that  you 
contemplate  selling  off  a  good  part  of  your  ranch —  Well, 
there  was  a  buzz  round  town  when  those  ads  were  read, 
and  I  was  not  long  passing  the  word  that  there  would  be  a 
mass-meeting  that  night  in  Armory  Hall.  That's  where 
we  thresh  things  out,  and  in  this  case  there  was  no  time 
to  lose.  We  had  a  pretty  full  meeting.  Judge  Leslie  took 
the  chair,  and  I  opened  with  some  of  the  most  pointed 
remarks  I  ever  made.  I  was  followed  with  more  unanimity 
than  usually  falls  to  my  lot.  The  upshot  was  that  res 
olutions  were  passed  before  nine  o'clock,  and  a  committee 
of  four  was  appointed  to  wait  upon  you  to-day — and  en 
deavor  to  win  you  to  our  point  of  view,"  he  continued, 
suddenly  lame,  for  by  this  time  Gwynne,  forgetting  Isabel 
and  his  good  resolutions,  was  staring  at  the  common  lit 
tle  man  with  all  the  arrogance  of  his  nature  in  arms,  and 
the  color  rising  in  his  cheeks.  Mr.  Boutts's  hands  gripped 
his  knees  as  if  for  anchorage,  and  he  proceeded,  firmly: 
"No  offence,  sir,  I  assure  you.  This  is  a  free  country. 
The  man  who  tells  another  man  what  he'd  orter  do  should 
be  called  down  good  and  hard.  Nothing  could  be  further 
from  our  intention.  The  meeting  was  called  only  in  the 
13  283 


ANCESTORS 

cause  of  what  you  might  call  both  self-defence  and  patriotic 
local  sentiment,  although  it's  a  sentiment  that's  local  to 
about  two-thirds  of  California — only  we  do  more  acting 
and  less  talking  than  most.  It's  now  some  weeks  since  we 
adopted  resolutions  in  a  still  bigger  mass-meeting  and  got 
the  best  part  of  the  county  to  subscribe  to  them;  on  the 
ground  that  an  ounce  of  prevention  and  so  forth.  So 
we  just  hoped  that  as  you  have  come  to  live  among  us  you 
could  be  brought  to  see  things  from  our  point  of  view." 

He  scraped  his  hair  forward  and  dropped  his  voice 
confidentially,  at  the  same  time  darting  a  sharp  glance 
through  the  open  window  beside  him.  "It's  this  Japanese 
business.  The  Chinese,  back  in  the  Seventies,  was  not  a 
patch  on  it,  because  the  Chinee  never  aspired  to  be  any 
thing  but  house  servants,  fruit  pickers,  vegetable  raisers 
and  vendors  on  a  small  scale,  and  the  like.  The  agitation 
against  them  which  led  to  the  exclusion  bill  was  wholly 
Irish;  that  is  to  say  it  was  entirely  a  working-class  political 
agitation,  because  the  Chinee  was  doing  better  work  for 
less  money  than  the  white  man.  The  better  class  liked 
the  Chinee  and  have  always  regretted  the  loss  of  them; 
and  to-day  those  who  are  left,  particularly  cooks  and 
workers  on  those  big  reclaimed  islands  of  the  San  Joaquin 
River,  where  they  raise  the  best  asparagus  in  the  world — 
yes,  in  the  world,  sir — get  higher  wages  than  any  white 
man  or  woman  in  the  State. 

"But  these  Japs  are  a  different  proposition.  They're 
slack  servants,  unless  they  happen  to  be  a  better  sort 
than  the  majority,  and  that  unreliable  you  never  know 
where  you  are  with  them.  And  being  servants  is  about 
the  last  ambition  they've  come  for  to  this  great  and  glo 
rious  country.  They're  buyin'  farms  all  up  and  down  the 

284 


A      N       C       E S_     TORS 

rivers,  the  most  fertile  land  in  the  State,  to  say  nothing  of 
some  of  the  interior  valleys.  You  see,  there  were  big 
grants  like  Lumalitas  at  first  over  a  good  part  of  California. 
Then  the  ranches  of  thousands  of  acres  were  cut  up  and 
sold  into  farms  of  three  or  four  hundred  acres  that  paid 
like  the  mischief  so  long  as  the  old  man  stuck  to  business 
himself.  This  he  generally  did;  but  times  have  changed, 
and  now  all  the  young  men  want  to  go  to  town;  and  most 
of  the  big  farms  have  been  cut  up  into  little  ones  and  sold 
off  to  immigrants  and  the  like.  Well,  that's  the  Japs' 
lay.  They  like  things  on  a  small  scale  and  know  how  to 
wring  a  dollar  out  of  every  five -cent  piece.  No  one's 
denying  they're  smart.  They  slid  in  and  got  a  good  grip 
before  we  thought  them  worth  looking  at.  Now  we're 
saddled  with  about  thirty  thousand  of  them,  and  more 
coming  on  every  steamer  from  Honolulu  and  Japan. 
Some  years  ago  when  they  began  to  find  themselves  as 
a  nation,  and  to  rebel  at  the  foreigners  that  were  ruling 
things  through  the  open  ports,  they  let  it  be  pretty  well 
known  that  it  was  going  to  be  Japan  for  the  Japanese. 
Well,  now  the  sooner  they  know  that  it's  California  for  the 
Californians  the  better  it  will  be  for  all  hands.  We  don't 
go  round  lookin'  for  trouble,  but  if  it  comes  our  way  we 
don't  mind  it  one  little  bit.  We'll  tolerate  the  Japs  just 
in  so  far  as  we  find  them  useful,  and  useful  they  are  as 
servants;  for  if  they  don't  hold  a  candle  to  the  old  Chinee, 
they're  a  long  sight  better  than  our  lazy  high-toned  hired 
girls,  who  are  good  for  just  exactly  nothing;  and  we  need 
a  certain  amount  of  them  for  hire  in  other  fields;  but 
as  citizens,  not  much.  WeVe  put  a  stop  to  that  right 
here,  in  this  county  at  least;  and  so,  Mr.  Gwynne,  that's 
the  milk  in  the  cocoanut,  and  we  hope  that  you'll  see 

285 


ANCESTORS 

things    our  way,  and   not  sell   any  of  your  land  to  the 
Japs." 

"You  see,"  interposed  Judge  Leslie,  that  Gwynne  might 
not  feel  himself  rushed  to  a  decision.  "These  little  men, 
while  possessing  so  many  admirable  traits  that  I  am  quite 
willing  to  take  off  my  hat  to  them,  are  not  desirable  citizens 
in  a  white  man's  country.  Not  only  is  their  whole  view 
of  life  and  religion,  every  antecedent  and  tradition,  exactly 
opposed  to  the  Occidental,  so  that  we  never  could  assimilate 
them,  never  even  contemplate  their  taking  a  part  in  our 
legislation  nor  marrying  our  daughters,  but — and  for  the 
majority  of  the  people  this  is  the  crux  of  the  whole  mat 
ter —  commercially  and  industrially  they  are  a  menace. 
With  their  excessive  frugality  they  can  undersell  the  most 
thrifty  white  man,  both  as  farmers  and  merchants;  and  the 
contempt  they  excite,  particularly  in  this  state  of  extrav 
agant  traditions,  is  as  detrimental  in  its  effects  as  their 
business  methods;  the  more  a  man  exercises  his  faculty 
for  contempt  the  more  must  his  general  standards  sink 
toward  pessimism,  and  pessimism  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  confession  of  failure  in  the  struggle  with  life. 
I  never  was  much  of  a  fighter,  so  I  believe  in  eliminating 
the  foe  whenever  it  is  possible.  At  all  events  we  have 
made  up  our  minds  to  eliminate  the  Jap,  what  with  one 
motive  and  another,  and  I  think  we  will.  It  may  come  to 
war  in  time — when  the  United  States  are  ready — but  we 
Californians  have  a  way  of  taking  matters  into  our  own 
hands,  and  as  war  is  a  remote  possibility,  and  we  have 
little  prospects  of  legislation — what  with  the  treaty  and 
the  unpreparedness  of  the  country  for  war — we  just  do 
what  we  can  to  freeze  the  Japs  out.  If  we  must  have  small 
farmers  and  our  own  young  men  have  other  ambitions, 

286 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

there  are  plenty  of  good  European  immigrants,  and  it  is 
our  business  to  encourage  them.  We  assimilate  any 
thing  white  so  quickly  it  is  a  wonder  an  immigrant  re 
members  the  native  way  of  pronouncing  his  own  name. 
But  the  Oriental  we  can't  assimilate,  for  all  our  ostrich- 
like  digestion,  and  what  we  can't  assimilate  we  won't  have. 
It  is  also  true  that  we  don't  like  the  Jap.  He  antagonizes 
us  with  his  ill-concealed  impertinence  under  a  thin  veneer 
of  servility;  and  superior  as  he  is,  still  he  has  a  colored  skin. 
Now,  right  or  wrong,  Christian  or  merely  natural,  we 
despise  and  dislike  colored  blood,  every  decent  man  of  us 
in  this  United  States  of  America.  Your  sentimentalists 
can  come  over  and  wonder  and  write  about  us,  reproach 
us  and  do  their  honest  ingenuous  best  to  convert  us,  it 
never  will  make  one  damned  bit  of  difference.  We  are  as  we 
are  and  that  is  the  end  of  it.  The  antagonism,  of  course, 
only  leaps  to  life  when  the  colored  man  wants  equal  rights 
and  recognition,  something  he  will  never  get  in  the  United 
States  of  America,  as  long  as  the  stripes  and  the  stars  wave 
over  it;  and  the  sooner  the  sentimentalists  quit  holding 
out  false  hopes  the  better.  As  to  the  Chinese,  it  is  quite 
true  that  there  was  no  objection  to  them  outside  of  politics. 
And  the  reason  was,  they  kept  their  place.  The  antipathy 
to  the  Japanese  extends  throughout  all  classes.  Every 
thinking  man  in  the  State  is  concerned  with  the  question. 
California  will  be  overrun  with  them  before  we  know  where 
we  are;  and  we  are  hoping  that  other  counties  will  give 
an  ear  to  the  wisdom  and  farsightedness  Mr.  Boutts  has 
displayed,  in  proposing  that  no  more  land  shall  be  sold — • 
or  rented — to  the  Japanese.  They  can  work  for  us  if 
we  have  need  of  them,  for  a  while,  but  they  cannot  settle." 
Gwynne  had  been  thinking  rapidly  as  Judge  Leslie 

287 


ANCESTORS 

drawled  out  his  homily.  In  his  new  apprehension  of 
latent  weaknesses  in  his  character  he  was  indisposed  to 
yield  to  pressure,  but  he  was  equally  desirous  not  to  let 
the  turmoil  into  which  his  inner  life  had  been  thrown  lead 
him  to  any  ridiculous  extremes;  not  only  interfering  with 
his  prospects,  but  converting  himself  into  chaos.  He  was 
extremely  anxious  to  make  no  mistakes  at  the  outset  of 
his  new  career,  beset  with  difficulties  enough.  Their 
words  had  every  appearance  of  being  a  just  presentment 
of  a  just  cause.  He  didn't  care  a  hang  about  the  "Jap." 
For  the  matter  of  that,  he  reflected  with  some  bitterness, 
he  didn't  care  a  hang  about  California.  At  this  point  in 
his  reflections  he  became  aware  that  Colton  was  turning 
his  head  with  a  sort  of  slow  significance.  He  looked  up 
and  watched  a  pale  eyelash  drop  over  a  deep  gleam  of 
intelligence.  Mr.  Leslie  finished  speaking,  and  Gwynne 
replied  with  an  elaborate  politeness,  which  might  be  his 
vehicle  for  spontaneous  sympathy  or  utter  indifference, 

"Thank  you  all  very  much  for  your  confidence  in  me, 
and  also  for  preventing  me  from  making  what  no  doubt 
would  have  been  a  serious  mistake.  I  have  no  desire 
whatever  for  the  Japanese  as  a  neighbor.  I  was  one  of  the 
few  to  recognize  the  menace  of  Japan  to  Occidental 
civilization  when  all  the  world  was  sympathizing  with  it 
during  its  war  with  Russia,  and  they  will  get  no  en 
couragement  from  me.  So  the  matter  is  settled  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned." 

"Shake!"  said  Mr.  Wheaton,  in  a  deep  rumbling  voice. 

The  four  shook  hands  solemnly  with  their  new  neighbor, 
then,  with  even  a  greater  gusto,  drank  his  health.  Gwynne 
suddenly  remembering  the  California  tradition,  and  the 
ducks,  invited  them  to  remain  for  supper;  but  all  declined 

288 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

except  Colton,  who  sent  his  wife  a  message  by  his  father- 
in-law.  The  other  three  climbed  into  Judge  Leslie's 
surrey  and  departed,  Colton  remarking,  apologetically, 
and  somewhat  wistfully: 

"She's  dining  at  the  judge's  and  won't  miss  me:  I  never 
leave  her  alone.     I'll  get  back  in  time  to  take  her  home." 


XIH 


MARIANA  cooked  the  ducks  with  the  skill  of  the 
unsung  chef  she  was,  and  enhanced  them  with  other 
delicacies  for  which  she  alone  had  a  name.  Gwynne, 
faithless  to  Isabel's  crude  though  honest  effort,  rose  to 
gayety  and  wondered  whether  California  was  practising 
the  insidious  methods  of  the  wife.  Colton,  absent  of  eye, 
disposed  of  his  share  of  the  repast  as  negatively  as  he 
did  most  things,  and  as  soon  as  they  had  retired  to  the 
veranda  produced  a  bag  of  peanuts  from  his  pocket,  with 
out  which,  he  remarked,  no  meal  was  complete.  Gwynne 
declined  the  national  delicacy,  feeling  that  diplomacy  had 
its  limits,  and  lit  a  pipe,  wondering  how  he  should  lead 
his  new  friend  to  give  him  some  practical  political  infor 
mation.  He  detected  the  guile  under  that  bland,  almost 
vacant  exterior,  and  Colton's  prattle  about  duck-shooting 
and  deer-hunting,  although  apparently  endless,  did  not 
divert  him  for  a  moment.  But  he  had  less  trouble  than 
he  had  anticipated.  Colton's  mind  seldom  roved  far 
from  politics,  and  it  required  little  tact  to  lead  him  to 
the  trough. 

"As  I  am  necessarily  in  your  confidence  I  will  take  you 
voluntarily  into  mine,"  he  announced,  in  his  clear  high 
pipe.  "I  don't  in  my  heart  care  a  hang  more  for  the 
Democratic  party  than  I  do  for  the  Republican.  But  the 
Republicans  own  the  State  at  present,  and  there's  no 

290 


ANCESTORS 

chance  to  get  your  name  up  and  really  do  things  in  that 
party.  They're  out  for  graft,  every  last  one  of  them.  The 
chance  is  on  the  other  side.  It's  a  big  chance;  for  the 
laboring  class,  what  with  unions,  and  being  rotten  spoilt 
with  easy  living  in  this  State,  is  becoming  more  and  more 
dissatisfied  every  day.  If  they  were  let  alone  it  would 
never  occur  to  them  they  weren't  the  chosen  of  the  Lord; 
but  we — the  Democratic  party — can't  afford  to  let  them 
alone,  unless  we  want  to  go  out  of  business  altogether. 
They  are  just  about  the  only  dough  we've  got  to  work  on, 
and  for  the  last  few  years  we've  been  systematically  sowing 
the  seeds  of  discontent  by  means  of  the  press,  metropolitan 
and  local,  abusing  the  rich,  the  trusts,  harping  on  the  seg 
regation  of  capital  by  a  favored  few,  to  the  unjust  and  il 
legal  impoverishment  of  the  many,  painting  gaudy  pictures 
of  what  the  working-man's  lot  will  be  when  he  gets  his 
rights,  emphasizing  that  in  this  State,  of  all  others,  man  was 
intended  to  be  happy  and  share  equally  in  her  abundance. 
We  sail  pretty  close  to  anarchy;  but  they  are  an  ignorant 
foolish  lot,  and  we  keep  a  tight  hand  on  the  reins  and  will 
drive  them  in  a  straight  line  when  the  time  comes.  I  am 
qualifying  for  the  position  of  district  leader  hereabouts, 
although  I'm  not  announcing  it  from  the  house-tops. 
But  the  present  one  is  getting  old,  and  I'm  on  the  inside 
track.  I  dress  in  these  battered  old  clothes,  that  make 
my  little  wife  weep — she'll  never  have  any  other  cause 
from  me — just  to  impress  the  farmers  what  a  good  Demo 
crat  I  am;  not  a  bit  like  Hyliard  Wheaton,  who  is  a  dude. 
All  he  is  waiting  for  is  his  father's  death  so  that  he  can 
move  to  San  Francisco.  But  I  drive  round  in  a  dusty  old 
buggy,  with  candy  for  the  children  in  my  pocket,  and  chin 
with  the  farmers  about  the  crops  and  any  old  thing. 

291 


A       N       C      E       S       T       O       R       S 

When  this  county  turns  Democratic,  as  it  shall  in  the  next 
five  years — likely  as  not  sooner,  we  have  so  much  raw 
material  to  work  on  in  these  immigrants — I  intend  to  go  to 
Congress,  hold  on  in  the  House  until  there  is  a  vacancy  in 
the  Senate,  and  there  I'll  be  for  life,  and  the  boss  of  this 
State  to  boot.  I  can't  say  I  care  about  the  Presidency. 
It's  only  a  chance  that  there  may  be  anything  doing  while 
you're  in — it's  largely  luck — and  then  when  you're  out,  if 
you  survive  the  White  House  —  which  most  Presidents 
don't — you're  as  good  as  dead.  I  don't  care  about  going 
abroad  as  a  Consul-General,  or  even  Ambassador,  for  I 
wouldn't  hold  any  office  under  the  United  States  govern 
ment  that  was  dependent  upon  the  favor  of  a  small  group 
in  Washington.  You're  no  better  than  a  servant,  and  you 
never  know  where  you  are.  Political  enemies  at  home, 
liars  abroad,  somebody  with  a  little  more  influence,  or 
any  low  political  business,  and  you're  fired  without  being 
heard  in  your  own  defence.  You've  got  no  redress,  and 
may  be  disgraced  for  life  without  ever  knowing  where  you 
were  hit.  None  of  that  for  me,  although  I'd  like  a  big 
position  of  that  sort  for  my  wife.  But  she  can  cut  all 
the  dash  she  wants  as  a  senator's  wife,  and  I'll  wield  the 
big  stick.  That's  where  the  fun  comes  in.  I  have  a 
natural  turn  for  politics,  and  then  it's  the  only  road  out  of 
Rosewater.  The  old  gentleman  is  dead  set  upon  my 
succeeding  him  in  the  bank,  and  he'd  never  give  me  a  lift, 
although  if  I  made  a  hit  at  anything  he'd  be  so  proud  it 
would  be  easy  sailing  after.  He's  not  a  bit  displeased 
that  I've  turned  over  a  few  thousands  an  aunt  left  me. 
But  I'm  after  bigger  game  than  that.  She  also  left  me 
two  thousand  acres  of  land,  that  look  hopeless  because 
there's  not  so  much  as  a  spring  on  them,  and  they're  in  one 

292 


A    _N_     C      E_J>_  J^_     O       R       S 

of  the  droughtiest  sections  in  the  State — she  got  them  as  a 
bad  debt.  Now,  just  over  the  border  of  that  ranch  is  a  big 
lake,  and  the  owner  of  it  won't  sell  or  rent  me  water  rights, 
thinking  I'll  sell  out  for  a  song.  But  he  don't  know  Tom 
Colton.  I'm  a  member  of  the  present  legislature — and 
that  isn't  the  least  of  the  reasons  why.  A  few  hundreds 
in  a  few  hungry  pockets,  and  we  run  a  snake  through  the 
legislature  declaring  that  lake  state  property.  Then  I 
ditch  from  the  lake,  and  I  am  the  proud  owner  of  a  large 
tract  of  valuable  irrigated  land.  I  sell  off  in  small  farms, 
and  clean  up  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  That  I'll  in 
vest  in  a  Class  A  building  in  San  Francisco.  I'm  also  in 
this  projected  electric  railway  of  Boutts's — would  advise 
you  to  buy  a  block  of  that  stock — I  can  let  you  in  on  the 
ground  floor.  Money  and  political  power,  boss  of  this 
State — that's  what  I'm  after — and  no  idle  dream  either. 
I  know  the  ropes,  and  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  hang  on.  I'll 
build  a  house  on  Connecticut  Avenue  in  Washington, 
and  my  wife  shall  have  dresses  four  times  a  year  from 
Paris."  He  turned  to  Gwynne  with  glowing  eyes.  "You've 
barely  seen  her — and  you  haven't  had  a  sight  of  the  kids. 
She's  Isabel's  great  friend.  I  wonder  you  haven't  been 
round.  I've  got  the  nicest  little  shanty  you  ever  saw,  and 
we'd  always  be  glad  to  see  you." 

Gwynne  thanked  him  absently;  then,  while  his  guest, 
dismissing  politics,  indulged  in  domestic  rhapsodies,  re 
lating  several  anecdotes  the  while  he  consumed  another 
bag  of  peanuts,  Gwynne's  brain  worked  rapidly.  He 
boiled  with  discouragement  and  disgust.  The  cynical 
frankness  of  this  young  provincial,  with  his  serene  con 
fidence  in  his  star,  and  in  his  power  to  handle  the  millions 
he  despised,  bore  a  primitive  and  humiliating  likeness  to 

293 


ANCESTORS 

his  younger  self:  Americanized  by  the  lower  standards  of 
his  country  perhaps,  but  painfully  like  in  its  elements. 
All  he  could  claim,  it  seemed  to  him  at  the  moment,  was  a 
higher  personal  sense  of  honesty  and  honor;  and  how  long 
would  he  keep  it  in  this  country  ?  While  he  was  hesitating 
between  taking  a  possible  rival  into  his  confidence,  and  an 
arrogant  desire  to  announce  his  reason  for  coining  to 
California,  without  regard  to  consequences,  Colton  dropped 
the  subject  of  his  family,  scattered  the  mass  of  shells  on 
the  floor  with  a  sudden  sweep  of  his  foot,  and  tipping  his 
chair  back  against  the  wall,  produced  a  large  red  apple 
and  his  pocket-knife. 

"I  can't  say  that  I  like  the  seamy  side  of  politics,"  he 
remarked,  absently,  as  he  performed  a  delicate  operation 
without  breaking  the  skin.  "My  wife  always  maintains 
that  I'm  the  most  honest  man  alive,  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  that  was  the  way  I  really  was  made.  Anyhow,  I 
know  I'd  a  heap  sight  rather  do  a  man  a  good  turn  than 
an  ill  one;  but  when  he  gets  in  your  way  what  are  you  going 
to  do  in  a  country  where  politics  are  machine-made  and 
every  cog  has  to  be  oiled  with  graft  ?  I'm  thankful  I'll 
never  be  forced  to  accept  a  bribe — there's  a  lot  of  differ 
ence  between  giving  and  taking,  and  I  guess  I'll  have  to 
do  a  lot  of  the  first.  But  it's  politics  or  nothing  with  me, 
aside  from  having  a  natural  genius  for  them.  I'll  never 
get  out  of  Rosewater  otherwise.  My  father  is  likely  to 
live  for  twenty  years  yet,  and  I  hope  to  God  he  will;  but  I 
want  the  big  game  while  I'm  young.  If  the  country  was 
better  I'd  be,  too,  and  like  my  job.  But  you've  got  to  play 
the  game  in  your  shirt-sleeves.  Kid  gloves,  and  you  sit  on 
the  fence  and  watch  somebody  else  wallow  in  after  the 
prizes." 

294 


ANCESTORS 

"It  seems  to  me  that  the  best  chance  for  fame  and  power 
lies  in  that  superior  strength  which  is  allied  with  honesty. 
A  man  who  is  at  the  same  time  a  clever  manipulator  of 
men,  and  whose  aim  is  statesmanship,  should  be  able  to 
reach  his  goal  by  a  clean  road." 

Gwynne  had  been  long  enough  in  the  United  States  to 
blush  uneasily  as  he  delivered  these  sentiments,  and  his 
color  deepened  as  Colton  gave  a  little  snort. 

"Can't  be  done.  Not  in  this  State,  anyhow.  You've 
been  talking  to  Isabel.  She  looks  like  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 
and  has  inherited  all  their  antiquated  notions.  Honest, 
now — are  your  politics  so  much  better  than  ours  ?" 

"A  long  sight.  And  they  are  by  no  means  perfect. 
We  have  our  machine  and  our  compromises,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it;  and  even  a  few  wholly  rotten  boroughs.  Fifty 
years  ago  we  were  blatantly  worse  than  you  are  to-day. 
As  long  as  the  game  lasts,  and  there  are  two  parties,  there 
must  be  more  or  less  chicanery,  but  we  are  snow-white 
compared  with  the  mire  of  this  country.  And  it  is  an 
anomaly  I  cannot  understand.  I  have  now  been  a  year 
in  the  United  States,  have  talked  with  hundreds  of  Amer 
icans,  studied  them  and  their  institutions.  Few  have 
struck  me  as  personally  dishonest — as  we  interpret  the 
word  in  England.  Human  nature  in  this  country,  indeed, 
has  at  times  appeared  to  me  almost  elemental,  utterly 
without  the  subtlety  that  makes  for  crooked  dealing. 
There  is  a  thousand  times  more  petty  trickery  in  Europe, 
and,  with  us,  more  hypocrisy,  certainly;  but  politics  we 
have  at  least  elevated.  Here,  the  best  man  in  private  life 
seems  to  become  transformed  the  moment  he  enters  the 
political  atmosphere,  and  if  he  is  not  a  scoundrel,  he  sails 
pretty  close  to  the  wind." 

295 


ANCESTORS 

"H — m!  All  you  say  may  be  true.  I  don't  agitate  my 
gray  matter  over  problems.  I  know  what  we  are,  and  the 
work  cut  out  for  me  if  I  want  to  stay  on  top.  I  have  known 
reformers.  We  have  lots  of  spasmodic  attempts  at  reform 
right  here  in  this  district.  When  the  reform  is  directed  at 
some  glaring  evil,  something  that  makes  us  uncomfortable, 
then  it  goes  through.  When  it's  directed  against  politics  in 
general,  then  the  reformer  falls  so  hard  he  never  gets  up — 
unless,  to  be  sure,  he  scrambles  up  p.  d.  q.  and  trims  with 
the  wind.  And  that,  I'm  bound  to  say,  he  generally  does. 
We've  had  our  idealists — -talk  till  your  mouth  waters. 
One  session  in  Sacramento  generally  cures  them.  When 
it  doesn't,  we  have  no  more  idea  what  becomes  of  them 
than  of  an  ant  that  butts  in  on  a  procession  of  other  ants. 
Ever  watch  ants  ?" 

It  was  Gwynne's  turn  to  snort. 

"I  take  my  boy  up  on  the  hills  every  Sunday  afternoon 
when  it  is  fine,  and  we  watch  ants  and  grasshoppers  and 
birds  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Why  don't  you  get  married  ? 
There's  nothing  like  it.  I  may  have  some  hard  hoeing 
ahead  of  me,  but  I  always  have  that  cosy  pretty  home  at  the 
end  of  the  day,  and  the  sweetest  wife  in  the  world — who 
doesn't  know  the  Republican  party  from  the  Democrat,  and 
never  opens  a  newspaper.  Isabel  is  too  high  and  mighty. 
She's  a  wonderful  girl  all  right,  but  the  last  woman  I'd 
want  for  a  wife.  I  know  a  girl  that  would  just  suit  you — 
Dolly  Boutts.  She's  as  pretty  as  a  peach,  and  as  domestic 
as  Anabel.  I'll  have  you  both  in  to  supper,  as  soon  as  we 
get  a  new  cook.  We've  had  four  this  month,  and  my 
wife  warned  me  I  was  not  to  ask  you  to  anything  until  she 
was  perfectly  satisfied.  She's  the  best  housekeeper  you 


ever  saw/' 


296 


A     _N_  _C__  JZ    ^S_  JT_  _0 R S 

Gwynne  maintained  an  infuriated  silence.  It  was  some 
moments  before  he  could  trust  himself  to  articulate.  Col- 
ton,  munching  his  apple,  and  twirling  the  long  spiral  of 
skin  he  had  peeled  off  without  a  break,  detected  nothing 
unusual  in  the  atmosphere.  It  was  characteristic  of  him 
that  he  took  no  interest  in  his  new  friend's  future.  Isabel 
had  told  him  that  Gwynne  had  not  sufficient  income  to 
maintain  his  rank  in  England,  and  had  resolved  not  only  to 
drop  his  titles,  but  the  name  by  which  he  had  so  long  been 
known;  being  averse  from  notoriety.  Colton,  who  had 
barely  recalled  the  name  of  Elton  Gwynne — he  usually 
skipped  the  telegrams  unless  a  war  with  picturesque  de 
tails  monopolized  the  foreign  columns — had  been  some 
what  amused  at  the  precaution,  but  respected  it;  he  would 
never  have  thought  of  betraying  a  confidence  reposed  in 
the  bank.  He  assumed  that  Gwynne  intended  to  become 
a  rancher,  like  so  many  other  Englishmen,  and  that  he 
purposed  reading  law  merely  as  a  secondary  occupation. 
He  could  have  thought  of  several  more  interesting  meth 
ods  of  putting  in  time;  but  every  one  to  his  taste. 

Gwynne  spoke  finally,  and  when  he  did,  Colton,  whose 
chair  was  still  tipped  against  the  wall,  sat  forward  with  a 
square  planting  of  his  feet. 

'"I  came  to  California  with  one  intention  only,"  said 
Gwynne:  "to  have  the  political  career  that  my  elevation 
to  the  peerage  deprived  me  of  in  England.  I  had  in 
tended  to  work  with  the  Democratic  party,  but  I  am  free 
to  state  that  your  account  of  it  has  turned  my  stomach. 
My  reasons  for  selecting  it  were,  partly,  that  in  principle 
at  least  it  more  nearly  approached  the  Liberal  party  in 
England;  partly  because  of  its  weakness  in  strong  men. 
But  if  it  is  as  rotten  as  you  say  I  am  afraid  it  would  be  a 

297 


ANCESTORS 

waste  of  time  to  qualify  for  it;  I  certainly  could  not  work 
in  harmony  with  it.  However,  there  is  an  abundance  of 
time  for  close  observation.  I  cannot  vote  for  four  years, 
and  if  I  finally  decide  in  favor  of  the  Republican  party,  at 
least  we  shall  not  be  rivals." 

"yiminy  !"  exclaimed  young  Colton,  ingenuously;  but 
Gwynne  could  see  the  glitter  of  his  eye.  "Well,  I'm  glad 
to  hear  it.  Not  much  you  don't  go  over  to  the  Republicans! 
There  isn't  five  cents'  worth  of  choice  between  the  two 
parties  when  it  comes  to  a  square  deal  on  any  measure 
ever  put  up,  and  this  slow  wave  of  reform  that's  trying  to 
crawl  over  the  country — against  trusts,  graft,  and  the  like — 
is  just  strong  enough  to  swamp  the  Republicans  and  give 
us  our  chance.  Rivals!  Not  a  bit  of  it.  There's  room 
for  all,  and  you're  just  the  man  we  want.  Isabel  told  me 
you  were  a  wonderful  speaker — I'd  forgotten.  That's 
just  what  we  want.  I  can't  speak  for  a  cent.  There's 
no  one  in  the  district  that  can  carry  a  crowd.  The  boss 
was  wailing  over  it  the  other  day.  You  can  do  a  lot  in  the 
next  four  years.  You'll  go  to  all  the  conventions  and 
county  meetings  with  me  and  make  my  speeches.  I'll 
introduce  you  to  everybody  that  can  put  you  on.  You've 
fallen  into  clover  with  the  judge,  because  his  only  son,  who 
was  practising  with  him,  has  had  to  go  to  southern  Cali 
fornia  to  live — nerves  all  broken  up.  He'll  push  you  all 
right,  and  as  soon  as  you  have  swallowed  the  California 
codes  you  can  practise  in  the  courts  by  courtesy.  Then 
I'll  take  you  to  Sacramento  with  me  next  year — I'm  a 
senator  this  term — as  my  private  secretary,  and  you'll 
learn  a  lot.  Your  hair  will  stand  up  straight,  but  never 
mind.  All  that  will  pave  the  way  for  whatever  office  you 
want  to  begin  with  when  your  papers  are  ripe.  I'll  see 

298 


ANCESTORS 

that  it's  a  good  conspicuous  town  or  county  office,  and  the 
legislature  will  follow  as  a  matter  of  course.  That  will 
fill  in  while  you  are  waiting  a  chance  for  Congress — you 
must  be  seven  years  in  the  country  for  that — nine  for  the 
Senate.  Only,  you  must  swallow  us  whole.  You  can't 
make  us  over.  We  Democrats  are  determined  to  get  on 
top  again  and  have  our  chance  at  the  pickings.  We'll 
talk  reform,  of  course.  That's  where  your  eloquence  will 
come  in,  and  the  more  you  believe  in  it  while  you're  hold 
ing  forth  about  the  Republican  party  robbing  the  widow 
and  orphan — more  particularly  the  farmer  and  the  laborer 
— the  better.  We'll  promise  the  working-man  a  sort  of 
sugar-coated  socialism,  but  we  won't  inspire  him  with 
any  higher  ideals  than  pecuniary  profits,  if  you  please. 
That  would  mean  content,  and  the  end  of  the  Democratic 
party.  Well,  think  it  over.  I  must  go.  My  little  old 
woman  doesn't  like  to  sit  up  late.  Mind  you  drop  in  and 
see  her  the  next  time  you  are  in  town." 

Gwynne  rang  for  his  guest's  buggy,  thanked  him  for  his 
advice;  then  ordered  his  horse  and  rode  about  the  ranch 
half  the  night. 
19 


XIV 


A  FORTNIGHT  later  Isabel  announced  to  Gwynne 
that  she  intended  to  give  a  party  and  introduce  him 
to  the  young  people  of  Rosewater. 

"All  the  girls  want  to  know  you,  Anabel  tells  me,  and 
as  it  is  a  relief  to  hear  that  they  are  interested  in  something 
besides  cards,  and  as  nobody  else  seems  disposed  to  take 
the  initiative,  I  have  concluded  to  play  the  grande  dame 
for  a  night.  In  a  way  it  is  my  duty  to  introduce  you 
formally,  although  it  would  be  more  so  if  they  had  done 
anything  for  me  since  my  return.  However — I  will  ask 
them  for  next  Saturday  evening  if  you  have  nothing 
better  to  do." 

"One  day  is  quite  the  same  as  another  to  me,"  said 
Gwynne,  dryly.  "What  do  you  fancy  are  my  evening 
engagements  ?  I  have  not  even  begun  to  read  law  with 
Mr.  Leslie;  he  has  gone  off  to  southern  California  to  see 
his  son.  He  says  he  is  always  restless  in  the  autumn,  as 
young  people  are  in  the  spring,  but  has  promised  me  his 
attention  before  the  middle  of  this  month." 

They  were  rowing  down  the  channel  of  the  wider  portion 
of  the  creek  towards  Isabel's  landing,  their  boat  filled  with 
spoil.  The  little  steamboat  was  winding  proudly  through 
the  marsh,  there  were  a  dozen  sails  in  sight;  from  the  south 
came  an  incessant  sound  of  firing.  The  distant  mountains 
looked  as  hard  as  metal  and  there  was  a  new  crispness  in 

300 


ANCESTOR       S 

the  air.  Little  rain  had  fallen,  but  it  was  no  longer  sum 
mer.  Gwynne  had  exchanged  his  khaki  riding-clothes 
for  corduroy;  and  Isabel's  habit,  although  still  dust-col 
ored,  was  made  of  cloth  instead  of  pongee.  To-day  they 
wore  light  covert  coats  over  their  canvas  and  rubber. 

With  the  passing  of  the  heat  and  the  advent  of  the  daily 
electric  breezes  sweeping  up  the  valleys  from  the  sea, 
Gwynne  felt  a  slow  lifting  of  the  dead  weight  on  his 
spirits,  although  he  wras  only  happy  when  he  had  his  gun  in 
his  hand.  California  seemed  less  like  a  voluptuous  levia 
than  blowing  poppy-dust  that  blunted  the  memory  of  all 
things  beyond  her  borders.  At  first  he  had  been  vaguely 
uneasy  at  the  insidious  suggestion  that  he  had  transferred 
himself  to  another  planet,  but  he  was  beginning  to  suspect 
that  California,  true  to  her  sex,  might  have  surprises  in 
store  that  would  quicken  his  blood  at  least.  He  still  dis 
liked  her  at  night:  the  high  unfriendly  arch  of  her  sky,  the 
sinister  atmosphere  that  brooded  over  her  spaces,  sug 
gesting  illimitable  reaches  where  no  man  dwelt,  or  would 
long  be  tolerated.  But  her  days  seemed  full  of  promise, 
and  they  certainly  were  full  of  beauty. 

He  still  fought  with  a  longing  to  confide  in  Isabel:  his 
apprehensions  and  doubts,  his  haunting  interrogation  of 
inherent  greatness.  But  he  turned  from  the  temptation 
in  a  panic  of  spirit,  sure  that  he  would  fail  unless  he  fought 
his  battle  alone.  He  had  pondered  more  and  more  upon 
his  possible  debt  to  his  mother;  and  the  doubt  that  she 
might  have  been  the  foundation  of  his  courage  and  self- 
confidence  was  as  bitter  as  that  he  might  have  owed  the 
extraordinary  rapidity  of  his  career  to  the  influence  of  his 
family  and  name.  And  Isabel's  very  strength  alarmed 
him,  the  more  so  as  he  felt  her  subtle  fingers  among  the 

301 


ANCESTORS 

leaves  of  his  new  destiny.  So  he  merely  smiled  into  her 
eyes  and  made  a  gallant  remark,  a  purely  masculine  method 
of  emphasizing  that  woman  is  charming  in  her  proper 
place. 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  dance  again;  particularly — it 
seems  odd — as  I  have  never  danced  with  you.  And  it  is 
a  year  since  I  have  seen  you  in  an  evening  gown.  I  have 
a  vivid  remembrance  of  how  you  looked  that  night  at 
Arcot,  when  you  turned  so  many  heads." 

Isabel  colored,  and  whether  with  pleasure  or  resent 
ment,  she  had  not  the  least  idea.  But  she  answered, 
hastily: 

"I  feel  that  I  have  been  very  selfish  to  do  nothing  be 
fore.  But  really,  it  seemed  hopeless  until  Anabel  told  me 
yesterday  that  there  was  a  vast  amount  of  interest  in  the 
young  English  rancher.  I  am  afraid  the  girls  here  will 
not  interest  you;  only  you  should  have  the  opportunity 
of  deciding  that  question  for  yourself.  But  what  will  be 
really  delightful  will  be  to  show  you  San  Francisco.  I 
have  not  been  able  to  leave  the  ranch  for  a  day  since  that 
three  weeks'  outing  I  had  no  business  to  take.  But  I  have 
had  half  a  dozen  resentful  letters  from  Paula,  who  has 
persuaded  herself  that  you  are  her  cousin  too,  and  asserts 
her  right  to  know  you.  But  neither  she  nor  Lyster  has  the 
remotest  suspicion  of  your  identity.  Elton  Gwynne  might 
have  a  dozen  brothers;  nor  is  it  likely  they  ever  heard  the 
name.  If  you  were  an  artist  or  actor  or  litterateur  or  com 
poser  you  might  be  as  well  known  in  San  Francisco  as  in 
London.  There  is  no  city  in  the  United  States  one-half 
so  artistic — nor  so  given  to  fads.  But  in  European  politics, 
the  young  people,  at  least,  take  as  much  interest  as  they 
do  in  the  canals  of  the  moon.  So  you  are  quite  safe,  and 

302 


A_    N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

Lyster  is  the  man  of  all  others  to  show  you  Bohemian  San 
Francisco  and  give  you  a  thoroughly  good  time.  We 
might  go  down  a  few  days  after  the  party." 

"That  will  be  very  jolly.  I  will  confess  that  although 
San  Francisco  did  not  inspire  me  with  enthusiasm,  it  has 
occurred  to  me  that  it  might  be  an  improvement  on  Rose- 
water.  .  .  .  Oh,  by-the-way,  I  had  a  letter  from  my  mother 
not  long  ago,  in  which  she  said  she  had  met  some  San 
Franciscans  at  Homburg — Hofer,  I  believe  the  name  was — 
and  had  promised  I  should  call  on  them,  mentioning  me, 
of  course,  as  John  Gwynne.  I  have  wondered  if  the  risk 
would  be  worth  while.  The  amusement  to  be  derived 
from  provincial  society  is  very  doubtful." 

"Provincial!  What  arrogance!  Do  please  call  on  the 
Hofers.  They  have  the  old  Polk  house,  whose  history  I 
have  told  you,  and  entertain  like  princes.  Besides,  Mr. 
Hofer  is  one  of  that  small  millionaire  group  that  is  trying 
to  clean  up  San  Francisco  municipally.  He  is  quite  worth 
knowing.  And  I  want  you  to  know  San  Francisco.  It  is 
my  ambition  to  be  a  great  figure  in  San  Francisco — and  I 
have  seen  other  cities,  and  might  be  enjoying  myself  in 
England  this  moment." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Gwynne,  smiling,  and  admiring  her 
pink  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes.  "And  of  course  I  don't 
forget  that  you  have  spurned  a  great  position  for  the  sake 
of  your  beloved  city.  That  is  really  at  the  root  of  my 
desire  to  know  the  place.  If  it  has  a  fascination  I  should 
like  to  feel  it.  Fascination  is  a  strong  word  and  means  a 
considerable  amount  of  enjoyment,  up  to  a  certain  point. 
But  I  am  glad  to  have  heard  the  declaration  of  your  am 
bition.  Is  it  the  final  one  ?" 

"It  is  the  pedestal,"  said  Isabel,  enigmatically.  "Some- 
SOS 


A      N      C       E       S       T       0       R      S 

time,  when  you  give  me  your  confidence,  I  will  give  you 
mine." 

"I  have  no  confidences  to  make — none,  at  least,  that 
can  compare  with  the  rich  experiences  of  your  past.  I 
told  you  all  about  Mrs.  Kaye  before  I  left  England,  and, 
so  far,  America  has  left  me — well,  unfascinated.  By-the- 
way,  Colton  informs  me  that  he  and  his  wife  have  picked 
out  some  one  to  cheer  my  loneliness  and — •" 

"Who?" 

"I  do  not  remember  her  name.  Doubtless  she  will  be 
at  the  party.  I  am  curious  to  see  all  your  friends  together. 
I  have  seen  an  astonishing  number  of  pretty  girls  in  the 
street,  and  I  am  wondering  how  they  will  stand  the  test  of 
lighting  up;  the  great  test  to  my  mind.  I  don't  know  which 
I  like  least,  the  manufactured  animation  of  the  European 
woman  of  the  world,  or  the  too  natural  animation  which 
makes  the  American  girl's  features  dance  all  over  her  face. 
You,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,  are  one  of  the  very 
few  Americans  I  have  met  that  has  something  of  the 
Englishwoman's  faculty  of  looking,  at  the  same  time, 
statuesque  and  glowingly  alive." 

"You  excite  my  suspicion:  I  see  no  indication  that  you 
are  out  of  practice.  It  is  quite  true  that  American  women's 
faces,  like  their  voices,  lack  cultivation.  Well,  you  will 
see  a  good  many  pretty  girls  on  Saturday  night,  and 
with  no  particular  advantage  of  dress.  Money  has  noth 
ing  to  do  with  social  position  in  these  country  towns. 
Perhaps  twenty  families  besides  the  bankers  and  Mr. 
Boutts,  and  the  Leslies,  are  well  off.  But  many  girls  who 
are  in  the  best  society  earn  their  living:  typewriters,  clerks, 
book-keepers,  and  the  like.  One  has  carried  on  her 
father's  drug-store  since  his  death.  Most  of  the  young 

3°4 


A      N    _C_ E       S       T       O       R S 

men  that  could  get  away  have  gone,  and  there  are  not 
half  a  dozen  left  with  any  money  behind  them.  The 
majority  of  beaux  are  either  clerks,  or  in  some  small 
business,  although  there  are  always  the  doctors  and  clergy 
men — very  few  young  lawyers.  Snobbery  barely  exists. 
There  are  lines,  but  purely  theological.  All  social  groups 
centre  about  the  churches.  The  first  here  has  always 
been  the  Episcopalian." 

"It  had  occurred  to  me  that  society  of  any  sort  had 
ceased.  Of  the  famous  California  hospitality  I  have  seen 
nothing.  A  number  of  men  have  driven  out  and  called 
upon  me,  and  I  have  returned  their  calls,  and  found  their 
houses  very  well  appointed — although  some  member  of 
the  family  usually  answered  the  bell;  and  one  morning 
I  saw  Miss  Wheaton  sweeping  off"  the  porch,  her  head  tied 
up  in  a  towel.  All  I  meet  appear  to  be  very  cordial  and 
friendly,  but  I  have  not  been  asked  to  take  so  much  as  a 
cup  of  tea  in  a  house  in  the  county,  and  I  have  now  been 
here  something  like  five  weeks." 

"California  hospitality  is  a  mere  legend  except  in  San 
Francisco.  In  the  small  communities  it  has  never  existed 
in  my  time,  although  they  used  to  dance  a  good  deal  before 
cards  turned  their  heads.  You  will  find  just  as  much 
haggling  over  a  five-cent  piece  here  as  in  any  small  New 
England  town.  These  rich  men  have  made  their  money 
by  hoarding  and  wary  investments,  rarely  speculating; 
and  that  tells  immensely  on  the  character.  I  doubt  if  the 
State  itself  has  ever  known  the  meaning  of  hospitality 
since  the  old  ranch  days,  when,  of  course,  it  was  prodigal. 
It  is  the  San  Franciscans  that  have  kept  the  tradition 
alive;  they  are  as  reckless,  as  extravagant,  as  royally  in 
different  to  mere  money  as  in  the  famous  Fifties.  If  you 

305 


ANCESTORS 

happen  to  call  too  close  to  a  meal-time  in  one  of  these  towns, 
the  meal  will  be  postponed  until  you  leave.  In  San  Fran 
cisco  they  would  give  you  two-thirds  of  their  last  crust. 
At  the  old  Rosewater  dances  we  never  had  anything  but 
cake  and  lemonade — ice-cream  in  very  hot  weather.  I 
think  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  give  them  a  shock  and 
have  a  supper  from  town." 

"I  believe  you  are  socially  ambitious,"  said  Gwynne, 
smiling.  "No  doubt  it  is  your  intention  to  make  a  fortune 
and  lead  San  Francisco  society." 

"Perhaps,  but  not  in  the  way  you  mean." 


XV 


THE  long-closed  bar-room  of  Old  Inn  was  aired  for  a 
week,  denuded  of  cobwebs,  delivered  of  mice,  can 
vassed  by  the  invaluable  Chuma.  The  Rosewater  Hotel 
promised  to  contribute  its  Sunday  band  of  four  pieces, 
manipulated  with  no  mean  skill  by  worthy  but  unpros- 
perous  young  citizens.  Not  one  of  Isabel's  invitations 
was  refused.  The  girls  suddenly  discovered  that  they 
wTere  still  young,  and  were  as  much  excited  at  the  prospect 
of  a  night's  dancing  as  at  meeting  the  English  rancher. 
The  men  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course,  thankful  to  be 
asked  to  anything.  The  older  people,  surprised  at  an  in 
vitation  to  a  dance,  assured  one  another  that  Isabel  Otis, 
being  absurdly  extravagant,  and  living  two  miles  out  in  the 
country,  was  almost  certain  to  regale  her  guests  with 
fried  oysters  and  ice-cream.  One  or  two  of  her  mother's 
old  friends  wrote  and  offered  to  contribute  a  chocolate 
cake,  but  were  relieved  when  she  refused  to  "trouble  them." 
Gwynne  and  Isabel  hung  the  walls  of  the  big  room  with 
palm  leaves,  and  branches  covered  thick  with  small  yellow 
oranges,  the  first  of  the  year.  When  they  rested  from  their 
labors  Isabel  declared  that  it  looked  like  an  exhibit  at  a 
county  fair,  but  Gwynne,  never  having  attended  a  county 
fair,  was  proud  of  his  handiwork  and  thought  the  effect 
an  improvement  upon  the  average  ballroom.  The  day 
before  the  party  Tom  Colton  and  Hyliard  Wheaton  rode 

3°7 


ANCESTORS 

out  to  Lumalitas  and  demanded  of  Gwynne  if  he  intended 
to  wear  a  "claw-hammer."  Colton  was  averse  on  prin 
ciple  from  being  too  "swagger";  and  they  finally  com 
promised  on  what  the  Americans  called  their  "Tuxedos," 
and  Gwynne  his  "smoker."  Anabel  Colton,  Dolly  Boutts, 
and  Serena  Wheaton,  after  half  a  day's  telephoning,  de 
cided  to  "wear  their  necks,"  and  their  hostess  agreed 
to  keep  them  in  countenance.  Every  team  in  Rosewater 
was  bespoken  for  the  distinguished  occasion,  and  the 
reports  of  the  weather  bureau  were  consulted  daily.  But 
the  rains  held  off"  and  the  night  of  the  party  was  brilliant 
with  starlight,  and  not  too  cold. 

Gwynne,  who  had  no  intention  of  receiving  with 
Isabel,  and  learning  from  Colton  that  everybody  would 
have  arrived  before  nine  o'clock,  did  not  make  his  ap 
pearance  until  ten.  He  found  the  big  room  full  of  young 
and  elderly  people,  even  the  latter  chattering  with  an  ex 
traordinary  animation,  induced  no  doubt  by  the  surprises 
that  had  greeted  them;  they  had  forgotten  the  existence  of 
the  old  bar-room.  From  the  dancers  Gwynne  received 
a  general  impression  of  pink  cheeks,  fluffy  hair,  delicate 
features,  gay  simple  gowns,  the  usual  lack  of  background; 
a  curious  transientness,  as  if  they  had  been  born  for  the 
night  like  summer  moths.  The  men  for  the  most  part 
made  a  good  appearance,  the  more  favored  looking  col 
lege-bred  and  irreproachable.  Hyliard  Wheaton,  who 
was  really  handsome,  with  his  broad  shoulders  and  cool 
smooth  well-cut  face,  wore  an  orchid  in  his  button-hole 
and  was  devoting  himself  to  Isabel. 

The  hostess  wore  a  gown  of  black  chiffon  trimmed  with 
pale  blue  that  looked  simple  and  was  not.  Her  neck  and 
arms  were  bare,  and  Gwynne  noticed  at  once  that  she  had 

308 


ANCESTORS 

another  little  black  mole  where  the  bodice  slipped  from  her 
shoulder.     She  reproached  the  guest  of  honor  for  being  late. 

"You  will  dance  this  waltz  with  me,"  she  commanded, 
royally;  "and  then  I  will  introduce  you  to  the  prettiest 
of  the  girls." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Gwynne  felt  self-conscious 
in  putting  his  arm  about  a  woman's  waist  for  the  waltz. 
He  had  seen  Isabel  in  full  evening  dress  many  a  time  in 
England,  in  rubber  boots  to  her  hips,  in  divided  skirt 
astride  her  horse,  in  overalls  among  her  chickens,  and  in 
pretty  little  house-gowns  when  he  had  remained  for  supper; 
nevertheless,  in  surrendering  her  slim  waist  she  seemed 
to  descend,  significantly,  from  her  pedestal  and  become 
warm  flesh  and  blood.  He  held  her  awkwardly,  barely 
touching  her,  wondering  there  should  be  physical  shrink 
ing  from  such  a  beautiful  creature,  one,  moreover,  that 
had  shown  him  more  kindness  and  disinterested  friend 
ship  than  any  he  had  ever  known.  He  reproached  him 
self,  but  even  while  he  admired  the  luminous  whiteness 
of  her  skin  he  found  himself  scowling  at  the  tiny  black 
moles  that  gave  her  an  oddly  artificial  provocative  look, 
as  black  patches  may  have  deliberately  enhanced  the 
charms  of  their  coquettish  grandmothers. 

"Humph!"  said  Mrs.  Wheaton,  raising  her  lorgnette, 
as  became  a  leader  of  society.  "He  is  not  so  fond  of 
her,  for  all  this  friendship  we  have  been  hearing  so  much 
about.  Well,  it  is  natural  enough.  Isabel  is  far  too  in 
dependent  to  be  really  attractive  to  men,  for  all  her  good 
looks.  These  advanced  women  will  have  to  step  aside 
into  a  class  by  themselves,  and  as  the  men  won't  follow 
them,  that  will  mean  they  will  die  off  naturally,  and  the 
world  wag  its  own  old  way  once  more." 

3°9 


ANCESTORS 

She  was  a  tall  stout  woman,  with  a  pale  heavy  face,  and 
a  curious  elevation  of  nose,  as  if  sniffing  an  unpleasant 
odor;  but  which  was  really  meant  to  express  pride  of  car 
riage.  She  wore  a  somewhat  old-fashioned  but  handsome 
gown  of  lavender  satin  trimmed  with  point  lace  about  the 
bodice,  and  a  pair  of  diamond  ear-rings.  On  one  side  cf 
her  sat  the  elder  Mrs.  Colton,  in  black  silk  with  a  point- 
lace  collar;  a  sweet- faced  frankly  elderly  woman.  The 
third  member  of  the  group  was  a  woman  who  might  have 
been  any  age  between  thirty-five  and  fifty,  very  thin  and 
dark,  with  the  curiously  virginal  look  peculiar  to  childless 
women  tainted  by  a  suggestion  of  morbid  sensuality,  very 
difficult  to  locate.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  twist  across 
her  thin  restless  mouth,  at  others  to  gleam  from  her  deep- 
set  black  eyes  with  a  fleeting  wildness.  Ordinarily  she 
was  smiling  with  an  affected  cynicism,  and  it  was  plain 
to  be  seen  that  she  respected  her  intellect.  She  was 
abominably  dressed  in  a  frock  of  purple  merino  trimmed 
with  black  velvet  ribbon;  but  she  wore  a  gold  comb  in  her 
hair  and  a  diamond  brooch. 

As  the  leader  finished  her  remarks  Mrs.  Haight  brought 
her  teeth  together  with  a  snap  and  shot  through  them  a 
little  hiss.  Mrs.  Wheaton  turned  upon  her  with  the 
gleam  of  the  bird  of  prey  in  her  little  gray  cold  eyes. 
All  the  gossip  of  Rosewater  was  very  old,  scandal  rare. 
"What  is  it,  Minerva?"  she  asked,  eagerly.  "Are  they 
engaged  ?  And  do  you  know  just  why  he  has  come  out 
here  ?" 

"I  only  know  what  everybody  says  about  his  coming 
here — that  his  health  ain't  good,  and  he  wants  to  make 
the  ranch  pay  by  running  it  himself;  but  that  other — " 
She  paused  and  lifted  her  thin  shoulders  significantly. 

310 


A      N      C       E       S       T       O       R S 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  if  they  ain't  engaged  they 
ought  to  be." 

Mrs.  Wheaton  leaned  forward  eagerly,  but  Mrs.  Colton 
said,  severely:  "That  is  just  your  evil  mind,  Minerva. 
You  are  always  imagining  things;  comes  of  having  nothing 
to  think  about  but  cards  and  novels — six  children  were 
what  you  needed." 

"I  guess  I  have  as  much  as  anybody  to  think  about, 
what  with  having  no  help  half  the  time,  and  a  husband 
who  wants  his  meals  on  time  whether  or  no.  And  I  guess 
I  worked  as  hard  in  the  City  Improvement  Club  as  any 
body  until  we  got  all  those  concrete  sidewalks  for  the  town, 
let  alone  the  parks.  What  if  I  do  read  novels  and  play 
cards  for  recreation  ?  Too  much  thinking  ain't  good  for 
anybody." 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Wheaton,  hastily. 
"  But  what  did  you  mean,  anyhow  ?" 

"Well,  as  you  know,  I  don't  sleep  very  well,  and  I  often 
get  up  and  sit  at  the  window,  watching  for  the  boat  'bus, 
and  just  imagining  where  the  people  who  are  out  late,  or 
up  early,  are  going  to  and  what  they  are  thinking  about. 
Well,  I've  seen  him"-  -  jerking  her  shoulder  at  Gwynne, 
who  was  now  dancing  with  Miss  Boutts — "I've  seen  him 
riding  home  from  here  as  late  as  ten  or  half-past,  many 
a  night.  He  may  have  been  duck-shooting  and  stayed  to 
supper.  That's  all  right,  but  he  could  go  home  just  after. 
I  for  one  don't  think  it's  decent — a  girl  living  all  alone 
like  she  does.  If  he  wants  to  shoot  ducks,  anyhow,  why 
don't  he  join  a  club  ?  If  he  does  all  his  shooting  here 
it's  to  be  with  her,  and  no  mistake.  I've  said  from  the 
very  first,  it's  downright  indecent  for  a  girl  to  live  alone 
on  a  farm — no  chaperon,  not  even  a  woman  servant.  I, 

311 


ANCESTORS 

for  one,  think  that  Isabel  Otis  has  done  just  as  she 
pleased  long  enough,  and  ought  to  be  called  down." 

"It  is  only  natural  that  she  should  do  as  she  pleases  now 
that  she  has  the  chance,  poor  soul/'  said  Mrs.  Colton. 
"She  never  had  anything  but  trouble  and  sorrow  in  her 
life  until  James  Otis  died.  I  wish  he  could  have  died 
when  she  was  little  and  I  could  have  brought  her  up.  That 
life,  and  then  her  sudden  liberty,  have  made  her  inde 
pendent  and  advanced,  but  I  can't  say  that  I  like  it  myself. 
I  wish  she  were  more  like  Anabel.  It's  odd  they're  not 
more  alike,  being  such  friends." 

"I  quite  agree  with  Minerva!"  announced  the  leader. 
"Isabel  ought  to  have  a  chaperon.  I  don't  doubt  she's 
all  she  should  be  or  /  shouldn't  be  here  to-night,  friend 
of  her  mother's  or  not;  but  I  suggested  to  her  only  yes 
terday  —  I  had  a  little  talk  with  her  on  Main  Street— 
that  she  get  some  respectable  old  maid  or  widow  to  live 
with  her." 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Mrs.  Colton,  with  a  smile. 

"Say?  The  insolent  young  minx!  She  just  looked  at 
me,  through  me — Me — as  if  I  had  not  spoken.  Her  moth 
er  always  put  on  airs.  That's  where  she  gets  it  from.  I 
had  half  a  mind  not  to  come  to-night.  But  I  wanted  to 
see  things  for  myself.  If  she  does  anything  really  im 
prudent,  /'//  make  her  suffer." 

This  last  phrase  was  famous  in  Rosewater.  Mrs. 
Wheaton  employed  it  seldom,  but  when  she  did  her  friends 
understood  that  she  was  not  far  from  the  war-path.  Her 
color  had  risen  with  the  memory  of  yesterday's  griev 
ance,  pushed  aside  by  curiosity  for  some  twenty -eight 
hours. 

Mrs.  Haight  regarded  the  radiant  young  hostess  with  a 
312 


ANCESTORS 

malignant  stare,  prudently  veiled  by  drooping  lids.  She 
envied  Isabel  with  her  whole  small  soul;  she  had  never 
known  the  sensation  of  liberty  in  her  life,  and  she  stopped 
short  of  the  courage  that  might  snatch  it.  Mr.  Haight, 
the  leading  druggist  of  Rosewater  and  an  eminent  and 
useful  citizen,  was  a  large  stolid  elderly  man — he  was  at 
present  in  the  little  dining-room  with  other  gentlemen 
of  his  standing  and  a  punch-bowl — as  regular  as  a  clock 
in  his  habits,  and  devoted  conscientiously  to  his  wife, 
whom  he  took  for  a  buggy  ride  every  Sunday  in  fine 
weather.  They  had  been  married  for  twenty-two  years, 
and  for  at  least  fifteen  she  had  yearned  to  be  the  heroine 
of  an  illicit  romance;  nor  ever  yet  had  found  the  courage  to 
indulge  in  a  mild  flirtation.  She  really  loved  her  husband, 
and  in  many  respects  made  him  an  excellent  wife,  but  her 
depths  were  choked  with  the  slime  of  a  morbid  eroticism 
which  her  husband  was  the  last  man  to  exorcise.  The 
earlier  fever  in  her  blood  had  gradually  dropped  to  the 
greensickness  of  middle-age,  so  that  she  was  vaguely 
repellent  to  men,  particularly  the  young.  This  she  had 
the  wit  to  detect,  as  well  as  the  incontrovertible  fact  that 
her  youth  and  her  chances  were  gone.  As  a  natural  con 
sequence  her  repressed  but  still  rebellious  passions  dif 
fused  their  poison  throughout  her  nature.  There  were 
times  when  she  was  seized  with  a  frantic  desire  to  inflict 
injury  upon  some  other  woman,  and  at  all  times  she  found 
relief  in  sharp  criticism,  in  flinging  mud  at  mantles  spot 
less  to  the  casual  eye.  She  passed  for  being  very  piquante 
and  clever  in  a  town  where  so  little  happened  except  the 
turning  over  of  money,  and  where  the  conversation  alter 
nated  between  chickens  and  cards.  She  was  sure  that  she 
scented  a  scandal  here,  and  her  very  nostrils  quivered  with 


ANCESTORS 

anticipation;  the  while  she  hated  Isabel  more  bitterly  for 
taking  a  lover  instead  of  an  eternal  husband. 

"Looks  as  if  she  didn't  mean  to  introduce  him  to  us," 
she  remarked,  with  an  attempt  at  frigid  criticism.  "He 
don't  dance  so  well  but  what  the  girls  could  get  on  without 
him.  Isabel  might  give  him  a  chance  to  exhibit  his  con 
versational  powers — My!  if  he  ain't  going  to  dance  again 
with  Dolly  Boutts!  I'd  like  to  know  how  Isabel  fancies 
that!" 

Gwynne,  who  liked  any  sort  of  exercise,  and  had  been 
reading  the  United  States  Statutes  the  greater  part  of  the 
day,  danced  with  the  girls  to  whom  Isabel  introduced  him, 
returning:  no  less  than  three  times  to  the  exuberant  Miss 

O 

Boutts,  whose  step  suited  his,  and  whom  he  thought  one 
of  the  prettiest  girls  he  had  seen  in  America.  Mr.  Boutts's 
mother  had  been  the  daughter  of  an  Italian  restaurant 
keeper  in  San  Francisco,  and  his  heiress  inherited  a  fine 
flashing  pair  of  black  eyes,  a  mass  of  black  hair,  and  a 
voluptuous  but  buoyant  figure.  She  had  inherited  nothing 
of  the  languor  and  fire  of  the  Italian  race,  but  chattered 
as  incessantly  as  any  American  girl,  and  had  the  mind  and 
character  of  sixteen,  in  spite  of  her  almost  full-blown 
beauty.  Having  an  instinct  for  dress  in  addition  to  a 
liberal  allowance  from  her  father,  she  was  always  a  notable 
figure  in  Main  Street;  and  when  in  San  Francisco  was 
pleasantly  aware  that  she  was  by  no  means  unnoticed  in 
the  fashionable  throngs  of  the  hotels  and  Kearny  Street. 
To-night  she  wore  a  gown  of  black  net  revealing  her  superb 
shoulders  and  arms,  and  bunches  of  red  carnations  that 
emphasized  the  red  of  her  full  pouting  lips.  She  danced 
with  a  graceful  energy  and  looked  unutterable  things  out  of 
her  great  black  eyes  while  talking  of  the  weather.  Gwynne 


4—  N    c     E     s     T     °     R     s 

thought  her  a  creature  of  infinite  possibilities,  beside 
whom  Isabel  was  a  statue  in  ivory. 

Just  .before  supper  he  was  introduced  to  the  older 
women,  and  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Wheaton  when  two 
waiters,  unmistakably  from  a  San  Francisco  caterer,  threw 
open  the  doors  upon  a  hall  that  separated  the  ballroom 
from  the  old  hotel  dining-room.  The  startled  guests  filed 
hastily  across  to  find  a  dainty  but  sumptuous  repast  served 
at  little  tables.  Even  the  ice-cream  was  frozen  in  graceful 
shapes  instead  of  being  ladled  out  of  a  freezer  in  full  view 
of  the  company,  and  there  was  such  an  abundance  of  all 
things,  served  with  despatch  by  the  professional  waiters, 
that  Mrs.  Haight  was  permitted  to  consume  three  plates 
of  oysters  a  la  poulette. 

"This  must  have  cost  a  pretty  penny!"  she  muttered 
to  Mrs.  Wheaton — Gwynne  was  dancing  attendance  on 
Miss  Boutts  once  more.  "Much  money  she'll  save!  One 
would  think  this  was  San  Francisco,  and  some  swell  house 
on  Nob  Hill.  I  don't  believe  a  thing  was  cooked  in  her 
own  kitchen." 

"I  should  think  not!  This  supper  is  from  the  St. 
Francis,  or  The  Palace,  or  The  Poodle  Dog—  Mrs. 
Wheaton  ran  off  the  names  of  all  the  famous  San  Francisco 
restaurants,  to  the  ill-concealed  spite  of  Mrs.  Haight  who 
did  not  dine  in  San  Francisco  once  a  year.  "But  as  you 
suggest,  I  cannot  imagine  how  she  expects  to  make  a 
fortune  in  chickens  if  she  throws  about  money  like  this. 
No  wonder  Mr.  Gwynne  isn't  good  enough  for  her — but 
perhaps  that's  the  reason  he's  selling  off  so  much  of  his 
ranch.  Mr.  Wheaton  says  he  thinks  of  putting  up  an 
office  building  on  some  land  he  has  south  of  Market  Street." 

"To  my  way  of  thinking,  Isabel  Otis  and  matrimony 
315 


ANCESTORS 

don't    gee.     She's    altogether    too    advanced.     Just    you 
wait." 

The  young  people,  meanwhile,  were  very  gay,  and  there 
was  little  doubt  in  Isabel's  mind  that  if  she  lived  in  Rose- 
water  and  chose  to  revive  and  lead  the  old  social  life  she 
could  drive  cards  to  the  wall  in  the  first  engagement.  She 
had  been  much  elated  with  her  success,  but,  of  a  sudden,  as 
her  eyes  roved  benignantly  over  her  chattering  delighted 
guests,  ennui  descended  upon  her:  those  ancestral  mutter- 
ings  in  the  soul  that  stir  dim  memories  of  great  moments 
of  a  greater  time,  inviting  a  vague  contempt  and  distaste 
for  the  petty  incidents  and  achievements  that  make  up  the 
sum  of  life.  Isabel  had  experienced  this  faint  sensation  of 
futility  and  disgust  many  times  before,  and  although  she 
was  wise  enough  not  to  let  it  paralyze  her  will,  and  to  turn 
it  to  account  in  holding  her  to  her  higher  ideals,  still  she 
often  envied  the  Dolly  Bouttses,  with  good  red  plebeian 
blood  in  their  veins,  and  no  voices  in  the  subconscious 
brain  but  those  that  bade  them  eat  and  drink  and  feed 
the  race.  No,  she  decided,  Rosewater  could  work  out 
of  its  present  inertia  by  itself,  and  she  began  to  wish  her 
guests  would  go  home;  she  was  tired  of  their  inanities. 
Her  disappointment  in  Hyliard  Wheaton,  whom  she  had 
admired  from  a  distance  ever  since  her  return,  but  who 
had  never  succumbed  to  her  charm  until  to-night,  had 
much  to  do  with  her  sense  of  futility.  He  had  read  noth 
ing,  seen  nothing,  experienced  nothing.  He  had  no  am 
bition  beyond  living  in  San  Francisco  and  enjoying  life 
there.  His  fine  well-bred  face  with  its  high  brow  and 
smiling,  slightly  superior,  gaze,  had  suggested — the  more 
particularly,  perhaps,  as  his  figure  was  superb — possibili 
ties  both  intellectual  and  romantic.  Isabel  told  him 

316 


A       N      C     _E_    S     _T_  _0 R_ _5 

politely  never  to  ride  out  without  using  the  telephone  first, 
and  had  her  excuses  already  coined.  At  least  ten  men  be 
sides  Gwynne  were  hovering  about  Dolly  Boutts,  like  hum 
ming-birds  about  the  nectar  of  a  full-blown  rose.  They 
were  blind  to  the  fact  that  her  voluptuous  suggestion  was 
but  a  caprice  of  nature.  Although,  no  doubt,  she  would 
make  the  best  of  wives  and  mothers,  she  was  as  incapable 
of  any  depth  of  passion  as  the  frail  fluffy  creatures  about 
her,  and  quite  indifferent  to  anything  in  man  beyond  his 
admiration.  Up  to  the  present  she  had  found  cards  far 
more  interesting,  particularly  as  she  had  known  all  the 
Rosewater  men  since  childhood;  more  particularly,  per 
haps,  as  this  was  her  first  large  party.  She  chattered, 
partly  by  instinct,  partly  in  deference  to  the  traditional 
animation  of  the  American  girl;  and  it  was  quite  likely  that 
the  ultimate  man  would  lead  her  to  the  altar  under  the 
delusion  that  she  was  a  brilliant  woman  with  a  genuine 
temperament.  Isabel  wondered  somewhat  contemptuous 
ly  at  Gwynne's  evident  enthusiasm;  she  would  have  given 
him  credit  for  more  experience  and  perspicacity;  but 
concluded  that  at  a  party  a  man  could  only  judge  a  girl 
by  her  exterior  charms;  and  certainly  Dolly  had  all  her 
goods  in  the  front  window. 

After  supper  they  danced  the  old  Virginia  reel  with  great 
zest,  and  even  a  few  stray  waltzes,  then  all  left  together 
at  two  o'clock;  the  older  women  assuring  Isabel  formally 
that  they  had  had  a  very  pleasant  evening;  but  the  girls 
and  young  men  exclaimed  that  they  had  had  a  keen  time, 
a  dandy  time,  and  that  their  new  hostess  was  too  fine  and 
dandy  for  words. 


XVI 


JUDGE  LESLIE  returned  on  the  following  day,  and, 
sending  for  Gwynne  at  once,  announced  that  he  was 
ready  to  settle  down  for  the  winter.  A  partner  attended 
to  the  business  of  the  office,  and  the  judge  shut  himself  up 
with  Gwynne  in  the  large  light  room  containing  his  fine 
law  library,  and  examined  his  promising  pupil.  Gwynne 
was  well  read  in  the  English  Common  Law,  and  in  Com 
parative  Jurisprudence,  particularly  in  the  history  of 
treaties  and  the  comity  of  nations.  So  much  he  had 
regarded  as  necessary  to  the  education  of  a  future  cabinet 
minister. 

Judge  Leslie  sketched  out  a  course  of  study  which  em 
braced  Cooley  and  Kent  on  Constitutional  Law,  compila 
tions  of  Leading  Cases,  Story  on  Contracts,  the  California 
Codes,  Civil,  Penal,  and  Political,  and  Corporation  Law. 
"The  money  is  in  the  last,"  he  remarked,  dryly, "but  even 
if  you  never  succumb  to  these  monstrous  corporations, 
more  aptly  named  cormorants,  the  more  you  know  about 
their  methods  and  needs  the  better,  should  you  ever  be 
called  upon  to  fight  them;  and  I  have  an  idea  that  that  is 
just  where  you  will  show  your  strength.  All  the  great 
statesmen  of  this  country  have  been  great  lawyers,  and  the 
great  statesman  of  the  future  is  going  to  be  the  lawyer 
that  checks  the  power  of  unscrupulous  capital,  without  at 
the  same  time  delivering  the  country  over  to  the  mercies 


ANCESTORS 

of  that  equally  unscrupulous  tyranny  the  labor -union. 
There  is  a  solution  somewhere  and  some  man  is  going  to 
find  it.  I  don't  see  why  you  should  not  be  the  man.  I 
have  followed  your  career  very  carefully — you  have  always 
interested  me.  You  come  here  with  a  magnificent  political 
training,  a  mind  uncorrupted  by  a  lifetime  of  contact  with 
the  contemptible  methods  of  machine  politics,  and  a  really 
great  ambition.  Your  eyes  are  wide  open.  I  don't  see 
why  you  should  make  any  mistakes,  particularly  as  you 
have  four  good  years  in  which  to  ponder  the  great  question 
before  committing  yourself.  Four  years  are  a  long  span. 
No  man  can  tell  what  may  happen  in  that  time,  what  new 
party  may  evolve.  All  you  can  do  is  to  watch  events  and 
be  ready  for  the  forelock  when  time  shakes  it  at  you.  If 
it  so  happens  that  you  can  insidiously  mould  a  new  party 
meanwhile,  so  much  the  better.  The  wisest  and  most  sug 
gestive  writer  on  our  national  life  is  a  Briton.  I  see  no 
reason  why  England  should  not  send  us  a  statesman — in 
the  old  sense.  God  knows,  all  that  we  have  now  are  a 
bitter  disappointment  to  those  of  us  with  any  of  the  old 
ideals  left.  Should  the  Presidency  be  your  ambition,  the 
fact  of  your  having  actually  been  born  on  American  soil 
may  be  the  cause  of  a  legal  battle  in  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States  that  will  pass  into  history.  Meanwhile, 
as  all  apprenticeships  must  be  humble,  you  will  be  a  sort  of 
unofficial  junior  of  this  firm,  sharing  the  office  business  for 
the  first  year  with  Cresswell,  and  the  second  year  helping 
me  with  court  practice  in  St.  Peter.  You  can  read  in 
the  intervals  and  at  home,  and  once  or  twice  a  week  I 
should  advise  you  to  attend  lectures  at  the  State  University. 
I  can  see  that  your  memory  and  powers  of  assimilation 
are  very  vigorous,  and  the  more  quickly  you  imbibe,  and 


A      N      C       E       S       TORS 

the  more  varied  the  quality,  the  better.  All  the  odd  types 
of  human  nature  you  meet  in  this  office  won't  do  you  any 
harm,  either.  Study  the  American  character  above  all 
things.  Get  in  sympathy  with  it.  It  is  as  opposite  from 
the  English  as  pole  from  pole,  but  you  won't  find  it  a  bad 
sort — the  country's  politics  are  the  worst  part  of  it,  be 
cause  circumstances  have  forced  them  into  the  hands  of 
a  class  of  men  that  make  their  living  out  of  them,  and 
whose  natural  destiny  was  pocket-picking  and  the  Rogues' 
Gallery — and  if  the  best  of  us  combine  one  day  to  do  you 
honor,  we  can  carry  you  to  places  as  distinguished  as  any 
in  your  own  country.  Great  and  disinterested  men  have 
succeeded  against  tremendous  odds  in  times  as  parlous 
as  these,  and  others  have  the  same  opportunity  here  and 
now." 

The  judge  wound  up  his  homily  with  a  little  perora 
tion  on  Abraham  Lincoln  and  then  left  Gwynne  to  the 
California  codes.  The  large  new  stone  office  building 
of  which  Judge  Leslie  was  the  chief  tenant  stood  at 
the  corner  of  a  street  a  block  above  Main;  Gwynne 
glancing  over  the  top  of  his  tome  could  see  a  proces 
sion  of  teams,  men  lounging  in  the  doorway  of  a 
grocery  store,  and  the  spars  of  fishing  -  boats  waiting 
for  the  tide.  His  mind  played  him  a  curious  trick.  Pic 
cadilly  was  before  him  with  its  great  hotels,  its  splendid 
old  stone  houses  upon  which  the  fogs  and  the  grime 
of  London  had  demonstrated  their  poetical  mission,  the 
classic  entrance  to  the  Park,  the  crowds  of  smart  men  and 
women;  Piccadilly  at  eight  on  a  summer's  evening  choked 
with  broughams  and  hansoms,  in  which  the  light  mantles 
barely  concealed  the  shoulders  and  jewels  of  the  women. 
He  had  loved  the  outside  life  of  London,  returning  to  it 

320 


A       N_ C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

from  afar  with  an  ever  fresh  and  boyish  pleasure,  the 
keener  perhaps  because  he  knew  that  all  doors  were  open 
to  him  and  that  he  was  one  of  the  great  lions,  not  of  those 
for  whom  the  stranger  must  search  "Who's  Who"  upon 
his  return  from  a  function  where  half  the  guests  had 
made  their  little  mark.  He  saw  the  lofty  towers  with 
their  delicate  tracery,  cutting  the  smoke  on  the  banks  of 
the  Thames,  the  little  room  below  where  he  had  made 
men,  old  and  bored  and  suspicious,  listen  to  him;  the 
more  confident  in  his  power  to  command  their  attention 
because  he  knew  that  they  had  read  and  discussed,  agreed 
with  and  denounced,  his  sound  contributions  to  colonial 
literature.  The  scene  dissolved  into  a  wave  of  homesick 
ness  that  made  him  choke  and  spring  to  his  feet.  Then 
he  swore  at  himself  and  returned  to  his  codes. 

When  Judge  Leslie  learned  that  Hiram  Otis's  law 
library  had  been  moved  out  to  Lumalitas  he  suggested  that 
Gwynne  should  read  at  home  until  he  had  mastered  the 
laws  governing  the  State  of  California,  and  the  student 
was  far  better  satisfied  out  there  in  the  quiet  and  the 
fresh  air  of  his  veranda.  When  a  point  needed  ex 
pounding,  a  horseback  ride  into  Rosewater  was  not  an 
unwelcome  diversion.  His  will  had  triumphed  in  its  first 
bout  with  memory,  so  subtly  liberated  by  the  written  word, 
and  before  three  days  of  close  study  had  passed  he  had 
the  sensation  of  having  found  a  new  and  individual  patch 
upon  which  squarely  to  plant  his  feet.  The  future  seemed 
more  definite,  more  assured;  moreover,  his  avid  brain,  its 
energies  too  long  in  abeyance,  settled  upon  the  new  and 
absorbing  study — it  was  eight  years  since  he  had  opened 
a  law-book,  although  he  had  forgotten  little  he  had  read 
at  that  plastic  time — like  a  swarm  of  locusts.  He  recalled 

321 


ANCESTORS 

that  a  clever  woman  had  once  said  in  his  hearing  that 
whenever  she  felt  blasee  she  took  up  a  new  language,  and 
at  once  felt  young  and  eager  again.  The  remark  had 
passed  him  by  at  the  time,  but  he  recalled  it  as  he  de 
voured  and  stored  away  the  statutes  that  in  many 
ways  differentiated  California  from  the  other  States  of 
the  Union.  The  mere  fact  that  his  was  not  the  or 
der  of  brain  that  took  kindly  to  monotonous  applica 
tion,  but  inspired  him  with  the  more  ardent  desire  to 
conquer;  the  sense  of  being  on  any  sort  of  a  battle-field 
again  gave  a  color  to  life.  He  realized  that  in  six  months 
more  of  inaction  he  should  have  fallen  into  a  constant  and 
morbid  habit  of  self-analysis,  and  although  his  soul-sick 
ness  could  not  be  healed  in  a  moment,  the  sense  of 
danger  gave  an  added  zest  to  the  impersonal  nature 
of  his  studies.  He  subscribed  for  all  the  San  Francisco 
newspapers  and  for  those  of  his  own  and  the  adjoin 
ing  counties.  He  was  not  conscious  of  any  mounting 
love  for  California,  but  here  his  lines  were  cast,  and 
California  was  as  good  a  stepping-stone  as  another.  If 
her  politics  were  hideous  he  had  not  made  them,  and  his 
reviving  faith  in  his  star  suggested  that  he  may  have  been 
born  to  redeem  them.  With  the  polishing  up  of  the 
rustier  parts  of  his  mind  even  his  eyes  grew  brighter,  he 
moved  more  quickly,  he  began  to  feel  all  intellect  once 
more,  propelled  by  a  body  that  was  daily  gaining  in  red 
and  vigorous  blood.  Judge  Leslie  was  so  delighted  with 
his  rapid  progress  and  his  exceptionally  retentive  and 
classifying  memory  that  he  assured  everybody  he  met  in 
Rosewater  and  St.  Peter  that  he  was  training  a  second 
Alexander  Hamilton  for  the  bar  of  the  United  States. 


XVII 

IT  was  four  days  after  the  party  that  Isabel,  walking 
over  the  low  hills  among  her  chickens,  in  deep  con 
verse  with  her  Abraham,  was  informed  by  Chuma  that 
Mrs.  Thomas  Colton  had  driven  out  to  call  upon  her.  She 
found  Anabel  not  in  the  house  but  seated  before  the  front 
door  in  a  smart  new  basket  trap,  and  as  smart  herself  in 
coat  and  hat  and  gloves  uniformly  dust -colored.  She 
made  a  wrry  face  at  Isabel's  overalls,  but  kissed  her  af 
fectionately. 

"This  is  my  birthday,"  she  announced,  "and  this  is  a 
surprise  from  Tom — horse,  harness,  and  all.  I  only  had 
to  give  him  three  broad  hints.  I  wanted  to  show  it  to  you 
first,  and  besides  there  is  something  I  must  talk  to  you 
about — very  important!" 

She  assumed  a  matronly  and  mysterious  air  and  dropped 
her  voice.  "I  suppose  Mr.  Gwynne  does  not  call  so 
early?" 

"Rarely.     Won't  you  get  out  and  stay  to  lunch  ?" 

"Tom  would  never  forgive  me.  He  is  sure  to  bring 
me  another  surprise  at  noon — it  will  arrive  on  the  11.30 — 
a  long  chain  made  of  every  variety  of  tourmalines  set  in 
silver.  But  I  couldn't  wait  any  longer  to  have  a  talk  with 
you  about  Mr.  Gwynne.  Until  I  saw  you  two  together 
the  other  night  I  had  all  sorts  of  romantic  plans  in  my 
head.  It  seemed  just  the  right  thing — you  are  so  dif- 

323 


ANCESTORS 

ferent  from  everybody  else;  and  then  having  met  him  in 
England  among  all  those  old  castles,  and  everything!  I 
was  sure  he  would  have  enough  of  California  in  a  year 
and  then  I  should  visit  you  in  England,  and  after  a  while 
you  would  marry  Frances  to  a  duke.  But  I  see  that  was 
all  nonsense.  You  don't  care  a  bit  about  each  other  and 
are  not  in  the  least  suited.  I  couldn't  get  up  any  senti 
ment  for  him  myself;  he  is  much  too  cold-blooded  and, 
well — English.  They  never  can  be  like  us,  no  matter 
how  hard  they  try.  But  in  a  way  I  like  him,  and  Tom 
says  he  is  worth  any  ten  men  he  ever  met.  I  feel  awfully 
sorry  for  him,  out  there  all  alone — and  it's  a  magnificent 
ranch — to  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that  he  must  be  worth 
a  lot  of  money  besides.  It  would  be  perfectly  shameful  if 
some  San  Francisco  girl  snapped  him  up — and  you  know 
what  they  are.  He  belongs  by  right  to  us,  and  I  for  one 
shall  see  to  it  that  none  of  those  man-eaters  in  San  Francisco 
gets  him.  Did  you  notice  how  attentive  he  was  to  Dolly 
the  other  night  ?  Well,  he  actually  called  the  next  day- 
she  was  out — and  sent  her  flowers.  Mrs.  Haight  saw  him. 
She  says  he  looked  dreadfully  disappointed  as  he  rode  off. 
I  take  that  with  a  grain  of  salt,  knowing  Mrs.  Haight; 
besides,  he  wouldn't  break  his  heart  if  a  girl  was  out  for 
good.  But  the  fact  remains  that  he  did  call,  and  he  hasn't 
called  on  another  girl  in  Rosewater,  much  less  sent  her 
flowers.  Serena  Wheaton  and  one  or  two  others  were  at 
my  house  yesterday.  We  are  immensely  excited  over  it. 
I  am  sure  that  if  we  managed  them  both  properly  there 
would  be  a  wedding  in  the  spring.  It  would  be  too  de 
lightful,  for  there  hasn't  been  a  bang-up  wedding  in  Rose- 
water  since  mine.  And  think  of  Dolly's  trousseau!  Every 
stitch  would  come  from  New  York.  The  San  Francisco 


A       N      C       E       S       TORS 

papers  would  be  full  of  that  wedding,  and  St.  Peter  would 
be  green  with  envy.  And  she  would  make  him  such  a 
good  wife;  such  a  beauty  she  is  and  such  a  dear  good  girl- 
just  the  kind  that  wouldn't  mind  a  man  being  haughty 
and  overbearing.  You  two  would  murder  each  other — 
but  Dolly!  The  more  I  think  of  it  the  more  enthusiastic 
I  am.  We  formed  a  plot  last  night,  but  as  in  a  way  he 
belongs  to  you,  I  maintained  that  you  should  be  consulted. 
But  tell  me  first — what  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"Of  the  match?  I  cannot  imagine  a  better.  What  is 
your  plan  ?" 

"Last  night  Mrs.  Colton  had  a  bridge  party,  and  I 
went  over  just  as  they  were  finishing  hissing  at  one  another 
over  a  spoon  that  cost  seventy-five  cents.  After  some  of 
them  had  gone,  the  rest  began  to  talk  about  Dolly  and 
Mr.  Gwynne — I  don't  think  the  town  has  talked  about 
anything  else  since  your  party — except  those  everlasting 
cards,  of  course.  Well,  the  upshot  was  that  I  suggested 
we  should  revive  the  old  weekly  dancing  club.  Otherwise 
they  might  not  meet  again  for  months,  now  that  Mr. 
Gwynne  has  settled  down  to  his  studies  and  hasn't  been 
near  Rosewater  since  Monday.  They  agreed,  but  of 
course  no  one  would  offer  her  house;  they  are  all  too  mean, 
and  mine  is  too  small.  But  we  can  hire  the  old  hall,  and 
all  the  men  will  be  glad  to  subscribe — a  few  of  us  can  make 
up  the  deficit.  Dolly  always  looks  her  best  at  night — • 
she  has  the  loveliest  neck! — and  she  would  be  glad  of  an 
excuse  to  get  more  party  dresses.  Well — you  see!  You 
can  always  sleep  at  my  house." 

"What  fun  it  will  be  to  have  a  weekly  dance!  I  am 
going  out  to  Lumalitas  this  afternoon,  and  I  will  demand 
Mr.  Gwynne's  subscription." 

325 


ANCESTOR       S 

"Isabel!  You  are  a  jewel!  Mrs.  Haight  was  nasty, 
but  I  told  her  she  did  not  know  you  the  least  little  bit, 
that  you  were  no  dog  in  the  manger.  But,  dear  Isabel, 
do  you  think  you  ought  to  go  out  there  alone  ?  I  don't 
mind;  you  know  that  I  never  bother  my  head  about  other 
people's  affairs,  but  Mrs.  Haight  is  such  a  gossip,  and  she 
never  did  like  you,  and  all  small  places  are  so  gossipy. 
She  has  been  telling  everybody  that  Mr.  Gwynne  rides 
past  her  house  quite  late  at  night  from  duck-shooting,  and 
of  course  she  assumes  that  you  shoot  with  him." 

"I  generally  do.  You  may  tell  Mrs.  Haight,  with  my 
compliments,  to  go  to  the  devil!  Still,  dear  Anabel,  if  you 
think  it  improper  for  me  to  call  alone  on  a  bachelor  cousin, 
I  will  pick  up  somebody  on  my  way  out." 

"Do,  that's  a  dear.  And  I  shall  tell  Mrs.  Haight  that 
old  Mac  always  goes  shooting  with  you.  I  am  sure  that 
he  does.  Good-bye.  I'll  see  about  the  hall  this  afternoon." 

She  drove  off  with  lifted  reins  and  a  little  flourish  of  her 
whip,  and  Isabel  went  into  the  house  and  telephoned  first 
to  Gwynne,  who  had  installed  a  private  wire  between  his 
house  and  hers,  and  then  to  Miss  Boutts.  At  two  o'clock 
she  drew  rein  before  a  large  brown  shingle  house  on  the 
highest  point  of  Rosewater.  Mr.  Boutts  had  begun  life 
in  one  of  the  little  old  peaked  cottages  down  by  the  central 
square;  later  he  had  built  an  "artistic"  cottage,  and  then 
a  "residence";  symbolizing  his  increase  not  only  by  the 
more  pretentious  structures  but  by  mounting  the  hill;  the 
second  cottage  had  been  half-way  up,  the  residence  was 
on  its  apex,  and  could  be  seen  by  the  envious  traveller  on 
boat  and  train.  There  was  nothing  left  before  him  now 
but  San  Francisco  or  a  balloon;  heaven  being  out  of  the 
question. 

326 


ANCESTORS 

Miss  Boutts  awaited  the  buggy,  in  the  tiny  porch,  and 
had  obeyed  Isabel's  behest  to  look  her  prettiest.  She 
wore  a  large  red  hat  covered  with  feathers  shading  into 
pink,  and  a  claret  -  colored  frock  that  fitted  her  superb 
figure  in  a  fashion  that  caused  Isabel  to  draw  her  brows  to 
gether  and  suggest  a  dust-coat. 

"It  is  too  sweet  of  you,"  said  Miss  Boutts,  as  she 
sprang  into  the  buggy.  "I  feel  so  flattered  when  you 
take  any  notice  of  insignificant  little  me.  Do  tell  me  where 
we  are  going  and  why  you  told  me  to  look  my  prettiest!" 

"I  must  go  out  to  Lumalitas  to  consult  certain  farmer's 
books  in  my  cousin's  library,  and  I  thought  it  only  fair 
to  provide  him  with  entertainment  while  I  am  busy.  It 
seems  the  gossips  do  not  approve  of  my  going  out  there 
alone,  and  as  I  was  obliged  to  go  I  did  not  think  it  worth 
while  to  make  a  martyr  of  Mr.  Gwynne." 

Miss  Boutts  blushed  and  tossed  her  head.  "He  called 
on  me  and  sent  me  flowers,"  she  said,  in  innocent  triumph. 
"I  was  so  sorry  to  miss  him.  All  the  girls  are  fearfully 
jealous." 

"Do  you  like  him  ?"  asked  Isabel,  absently. 

"Well — a  little.  He  is  new,  and  English,  and  different. 
There's  not  much  to  choose  from  here,  and  I  don't  know 
any  of  the  swells  in  San  Francisco.  I  can't  say  he  is  my 
ideal — that  has  always  been  an  immensely  tall  man  with 
big  blue  eyes  and  a  tawny  moustache;  and  Mr.  Gwynne 
is  just  a  sort  of  blond,  no  color  in  his  hair  at  all,  and  I 
never  did  care  much  for  gray  eyes.  He's  tall  enough,  and 
the  girls  think  him  'distinguished,'"  but  nobody  could  call 
him  big.  Besides,  he  doesn't  know  how  to  say  swTeet 
things  one  little  bit.  I  went  out  on  the  veranda  with  him 
at  your  party,  and  it  was  a  heavenly  night,  and  all  he  asked 

327 


A       N      C       E       S       T^ O       R       S 

me  was  if  I  wasn't  afraid  of  catching  cold,  and  then  he 
wandered  on  about  American  girls  exposing  themselves 
foolishly  and  wearing  too  thin  shoes  and  eating  too  many 
sweets.  Fancy  a  man  talking  like  that  to  a  girl  at  night 
on  a  veranda!  I  never  felt  so  flat." 

Isabel  glanced  curiously  at  the  beautiful  empty  creature. 
Her  black  eyes  looked  like  wells  of  sentiment,  and  her 
body  a  mould  for  a  new  race  of  men. 

"Tell  me,"  she  exclaimed,  impulsively.  "What  do 
you  expect  a  man  to  do  under  such  circumstances — to — 
a  —  kiss  you  ?"  She  brought  out  the  last  with  some 
effort,  her  old-fashioned  training  suddenly  suggesting  that 
she  could  better  understand  the  downfall  of  the  girl  she 
had  befriended  in  Paris  than  the  vulgarities  of  the  shallow. 

Miss  Boutts  laughed  amusedly.  "Well,  most  men 
would  have  tried  it.  I  never  was  one  to  make  myself 
common,  but  once  in  a  while — well!  I  haven't  much 
opinion  of  a  man  who  wouldn't  snatch  a  kiss  from  a  girl 
he  admired  to  death,  when  he  got  a  chance."  She  turned 
upon  Isabel,  curious  in  her  turn.  "Of  course  you  are 
lots  older  than  I  am — twenty-five  or  six,  aren't  you  ?  And 
I  am  only  just  eighteen.  But  I  always  used  to  watch  and 
wonder  about  you  before  you  went  away.  I  knew  you 
were  not  the  least  bit  like  the  other  girls.  I  wonder  what 
it  is  like  to  be  different  from  other  people.  I  always  feel 
just  like  everybody  else." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Isabel,  encouragingly.  "It  was  only 
circumstances  that  made  me  appear  different." 

"But  you  know  so  much!"  sighed  Miss  Boutts.  "You 
speak  a  lot  of  languages,  and  you  took  all  the  honors  at 
the  High  School — and  then  all  those  years  in  Europe!  I 
wonder  Mr.  Gwynne  will  even  look  at  any  of  us." 

328 


ANCESTOR^ 

"Men  like  your  sort  much  better,"  said  Isabel,  dryly. 
"Do  be  nice  to  him  to-day,  and  entertain  him  in  your  own 
style  while  I  dig  through  those  tiresome  books.  I  sha'n't 
be  long." 

Gwynne  looked  more  than  hospitable  as  he  ran  down 
the  veranda  steps  to  assist  his  guests  out  of  the  high 
buggy.  When  they  had  taken  off  their  dust-cloaks  and 
stood  side  by  side  he  reflected  that  he  had  seldom  seen  two 
such  handsome  girls  together.  Isabel  was  far  more 
simply  dressed  than  Miss  Boutts,  but  her  little  black 
jacket  fitted  perfectly,  and  there  was  a  touch  of  pale  blue 
at  the  neck,  and  in  the  lining  of  her  large  black  hat,  that 
deepened  the  blue  of  her  eyes  under  their  heavy  black 
brows  and  lashes.  Gwynne  had  never  seen  her  look  so 
girlish  and  ingenuous.  She  kept  her  profile  from  him 
and  he  saw  only  her  smiling  eyes  and  red  half-opened 
mouth. 

"I  had  to  telephone  to  make  sure  you  would  be  at  home," 
she  said.  "They  say  I  mustn't  come  out  here  alone,  and 
I  didn't  want  Miss  Boutts  to  be  bored  while  I  was  at  work. 
I'll  leave  you  two  here  on  the  porch.  That  will  be  quite 
proper." 

As  she  nodded  and  went  into  the  living-room  she  saw 
Gwynne  turn  to  the  lovely  glowing  girl  left  on  his  hands, 
with  more  intensity  than  she  had  seen  him  display  since 
Mrs.  Kaye  took  her  black  eyes  and  fine  bust  out  of  his  life. 
As  she  made  herself  comfortable  in  his  deepest  chair  she 
heard  the  girlish  shallow  voice  launch  out  into  a  eulogy  of 
the  scenery.  Gwynne  responded  with  some  enthusiasm; 
for  a  time  there  was  a  broken  duet,  and  then  the  feminine 
voice  settled  down  to  a  steady  monologue.  Miss  Boutts 
knew  that  it  was  an  American  girl's  business  to  be  ani- 

329 


/INCEST       O       R       S 

mated,  entertaining,  amusing,  especially  with  Englishmen, 
who  hated  effort.  Occasionally  there  was  a  masculine 
rumble,  with  a  growing  accent  of  desperation,  and  the 
indulgent  little  bursts  of  laughter  diminished  in  frequence 
and  spontaneity.  Isabel  lifted  down  volume  after  volume 
of  the  books  on  farming  her  uncle  had  collected,  letting 
one  fall,  rattling  leaves  when  leaves  would  rattle.  An 
hour  passed.  She  appropriated  Gwynne's  writing 
materials  and  took  what  appeared  to  be  copious 
notes.  The  host  suddenly  excused  himself  and  came 
within. 

"Won't  you  have  tea?"  he  demanded.  "It  is  rather 
early,  but  after  that  drive — 

"Much  too  early,"  said  Isabel,  absently.  Her  chin  was 
on  her  hand,  her  eyes  were  on  a  spotted  page.  "Mariana 
is  sure  to  be  asleep.  Do  go  back  to  Dolly.  She  is  one  of 
those  girls  that  can't  bear  to  be  left  alone.  I  didn't  bring 
her  out  here  to  be  bored." 

"Didn't  you  ?  What  on  earth  do  you  want  of  all  those 
notes  ?  Are  you  going  to  write  a  treatise  ?" 

"Of  course  not.     Do  go  back." 

Gwynne  returned  to  the  veranda.  For  more  than 
another  hour  that  sweet  nasal  monotonous  voice  trilled 
on.  Then  it  began  to  flag.  Then  a  silence  ensued,  broken 
at  first  by  sporadic  and  staccato  remarks,  then  becoming 
as  dense  as  the  silences  of  the  night.  Again  Gwynne  in 
vaded  his  living-room. 

"Isabel!"  he  said,  in  a  low  tense  tone. 

Isabel  looked  up  dreamily  and  encountered  a  haggard 
face  and  a  pair  of  blazing  eyes.  "I'll  never  forgive  you!" 
he  whispered. 

"For  what?" 

33° 


ANCESTOR S 

"  For  what!  Do  you  want  to  drive  me  mad  ?  Take  her 
home!" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  not  been  enjoying 
yourself?" 

"Enjoying  myself!     I  have  been  on  the  rack." 

"You  are  the  rudest — most  unsatisfactory — I  thought 
1  knew  your  taste." 

"Oh,  please!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

They  confronted  each  other,  Gwynne  flushed  and  angry, 
Isabel  coldly  interrogative.  Gwynne,  who  had  been  on 
the  verge  of  an  explosion,  felt  suddenly  helpless.  It  was 
assuming  a  great  deal  to  tell  a  woman  that  he  saw  through 
her  plot  to  disenchant  him  with  a  rival.  He  could  hear 
the  descending  whip  of  Isabel's  scorn.  Besides,  it  would 
mean  a  quarrel,  and  much  as  he  resented  her  interference 
in  his  destinies,  especially  this  last  and  most  notable  suc 
cess,  he  had  no  desire  to  break  up  the  even  surface  of 
their  relation.  So  he  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
said,  with  what  calmness  he  could  muster: 

"  Be  kind  enough  to  take  her  home.  I  will  return  the 
entire  library  if  you  need  it." 

"Oh,  I  have  finished.  I  am  sorry  you  have  been 
bored."  And  she  carefully  gathered  up  her  papers  and 
went  to  the  rescue  of  the  weary  Miss  Boutts,  while  Gwynne 
ordered  the  buggy.  During  the  drive  towards  the  paternal 
roof  Miss  Boutts  remarked  casually  that  she  didn't  care 
about  Englishmen,  but  otherwise  had  little  to  say. 

So  ended  the  social  regeneration  of  Rosewater. 


XVIII 

/"^WYNNE  awoke  one  morning  with  an  irresistible 
vj  desire  for  The  Town  in  every  fibre  of  his  being. 
Barring  London  he  would  have  liked  three  crowded  days 
in  New  York,  but  as  nothing  better  was  available  he  felt 
that  he  was  open  to  the  attractions  of  San  Francisco.  Pie 
had  not  visited  it  since  his  departure  on  that  brilliant 
Sunday  after  his  arrival;  he  had  promised  to  wait  for 
Isabel,  and  his  interest  in  it  was  intermittent.  This 
morning  he  found  his  indifference  culpable,  inasmuch  as 
he  had  had  three  letters  from  his  mother  imploring  him  to 
increase  her  income,  and  Mr.  Colton  had  not  only  strongly 
advised  him  to  tear  down  the  block  of  old  structures 
south  of  Market  Street,  and  put  up  a  great  office  building, 
but  had  offered  to  raise  the*  money — selling  half  the  land 
and  mortgaging  the  rest.  And  if  Gwynne  had  not  revisited 
San  Francisco  he  had  a  very  accurate  idea  of  its  present 
conditions.  It  was  uncommonly  rich,  and  its  citizens, 
always  sanguine  of  its  future,  had  been  seized  with  a  very 
fever  of  faith;  they  were  selling  out  their  interests  every 
where  else  and  buying  and  building,  tearing  down  and 
rebuilding,  until  San  Francisco  threatened  to  lose  its 
oddly  patched  and  wholly  individual  appearance  and  be 
come  the  Western  city  of  sky-scrapers. 

As  Gwynne  dressed  he  recalled  his  first  impression  of 
the  city   as    he   crossed   the  J>ay:    its   singularly    desolate 

332 


ANCESTORS 

appearance,  in  spite  of  what  at  first  looked  to  be  a 
compact  mass  of  buildings  covering  some  thirty  thousand 
acres  on  hill  and  plain,  and  later  as  if  a  comet  had  rained 
down  pickings  from  every  architectural  quarter  of  the 
universe.  He  had  walked  cnce  to  the  back  of  the  boat 
and  looked  at  the  line  of  little  towns  and  cities  lying  at 
the  base  of  the  eastern  hills.  They  did  nothing  to  dispel 
the  impression  of  loneliness.  Whatever  their  individual 
names  they  were  mere  annexes  of  the  great-little  city  op 
posite.  When  he  returned  to  the  forward  deck  the  dust  was 
blowing  its  brown  volumes  through  every  street  that  con 
verged  to  the  water-front.  Those  dust  wracks,  broken 
and  narrowed  by  the  buildings,  lifted  from  the  outlying 
sand-dunes,  and  following  a  law  that  had  driven  them 
eastward  since  California  had  risen  from  the  deeps,  had 
a  curiously  baffled,  stolidly  persistent  expression,  as  if  the 
old  sand-dunes  knew  their  rights  and  were  determined  to 
assert  themselves  so  long  as  man  left  a  yard  of  them  free. 
Gwynne,  in  his  solitary  moments,  when  even  his  law- 
books  were  closed,  had  recalled  the  stories  of  San  Francisco, 
past  and  present,  told  him  by  Isabel,  and  they  had  given 
rise  to  many  whimsies.  California,  he  still  all  but  dis 
liked,  but  he  wondered  at  the  haunting  memory  of  the 
city  he  had  seen  so  briefly,  and  the  odd  almost  pathetic 
appeal  it  had  made  to  h  s  sympathies.  He  had  con 
cluded  that  it  was  the  pioneer  taint  in  his  English  blood, 
and  had  blinked  in  sudden  wonder  before  the  fact  of  his 
close  kinship,  not  only  to  that  old  romantic  Spanish  element, 
but  to  the  brilliant  adventurous  'awless  race  of  men  that 
had  made  the  city  great  and  famous,  then  passed  on  into 
the  kingdom  of  darkness  leaving  their  moral  rottenness  in 
its  foundations,  and,  pulsing  above,  all  their  old  brave 

333 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

indomitable  and  progressive  spirit.  Although  he  had 
found  it  no  rival  to  his  studies  and  his  ranch,  still  he  had 
given  it  more  thought  than  he  was  aware,  and  not  only 
to  its  picturesque  psychology,  but  as  the  seat  of  a  possible 
business  adventure.  To  raise  a  large  sum  of  money  on 
the  San  Francisco  real  estate — the  common  property  of 
his  mother  and  himself — and  erect  a  great  office  building 
of  steel  and  reinforced  concrete,  would  add  enormously 
to  his  own  and  his  mother's  incomes,  but  on  the  other 
hand  it  would  stand  in  the  midst  of  acres  of  wooden 
buildings  and  shanties,  and  the  risk  of  a  great  fire — whose 
momentum  would  sweep  through  any  fireproof  building — 
was  one  forgotten  neither  by  the  insurance  agents  nor  the 
chief  of  the  fire  department,  who  was  said  to  keep  thou 
sands  of  tons  of  dynamite  in  the  city  with  which  to  segregate 
the  always  expected  conflagration.  It  was  possible  that 
no  insurance  company  would  take  the  risk  on  an  ex 
pensive  building  in  such  a  quarter.  On  the  other  hand 
it  was  as  certain  as  the  present  wealth  of  the  city,  that 
such  a  building  would  have  hundreds  of  companions  in 
the  next  ten  years,  and  the  undesirable,  immoral,  and 
generally  drunken  element,  so  largely  responsible  for  the 
continual  fires  of  the  district,  would  be  gradually  pressed 
to  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  He  felt  inclined  to  take  the 
risk,  even  a  sense  of  exhilaration  in  it,  as  if  indeed  the  dead 
and  gone  Otises  had  invaded  his  soul  and  demanded  one 
more  bout  on  earth. 

There  was  another  matter  that  claimed  his  thoughts 
when  the  law  was  at  rest.  Fie  was  suspicious  and  re 
sentful  of  Isabel's  desire  to  manage  him;  and  that  she  had 
succeeded  more  than  once,  through  her  superior  feminine 
subtlety,  made  him  aware  that  two  strong  natures  were 

334 


A       N       C      E       S      T       O       R       S 

slowly  bracing  themselves  against  each  other,  and  that 
on  some  future  battle-ground  there  might  be  a  heavy 
and  final  encounter.  This  morning,  as  he  ordered  his 
portmanteau  to  be  packed  and  placed  in  the  buggy,  his 
impulse  was  to  take  the  train,  and  cavalierly  announce, 
upon  their  next  meeting,  that  he  had  "been  to  town." 
After  he  had  had  h:s  coffee,  however,  he  decided  not  to 
be  an  ass,  and  unpardonably  rude  as  well.  She  had 
talked  of  this  visit  every  time  they  had  met,  although  one 
thing  and  another  had  detained  her,  and  he  could  hardly 
explain  to  her  an  impetuous  and  solitary  flight.  He 
colored  as  he  invoked  her  assumption  that  he  feared  and 
was  running  away  from  her,  asserting  his  independence 
like  any  school  -  boy.  Besides  there  was  the  launch. 
The  idea  of  three  hours  on  the  water  instead  of  one  and  a 
half  on  a  slow  and  d  rty  train  so  exhilarated  him  that  he 
forgot  his  self-communings  and  ordered  the  buggy  at 
once.  It  was  but  half-past  five.  They  would  catch  the 
tide;  nor  did  the  train  leave  until  half-past  eight.  He 
presented  Imura  Kisaburo  Hinamoto  with  a  box  of 
cigarettes,  gave  him  the  run  of  the  library,  and  drove  off 
whistling. 

He  found  Isabel  among  the  chickens.  She  had  just 
opened  the  doors  of  all  the  little  colony  houses,  and  the 
hills  were  white  with  excited  scratching  Leghorns.  She 
wore  overalls  and  high  boots,  and  the  night  braid  of  her 
hair  was  twisted  several  times  round  her  throat.  Gwynne 
smiled  as  he  recalled  the  heroines  of  poesy  that  had  fed 
so  many  doves  and  garden  birds.  No  heroine  could  look 
picturesque  in  bloomers,  and  feeding  chickens,  but  as 
Isabel  came  towards  him  waving  her  hand  hospitably,  her 
white  clear-cut  face  resting  on  its  black  gotta  of  hair 

335 


A       N    J^^E_^     T       O       R      _5 

might  have  suggested  Stack's  Slinde,  in  the  Neue  Pina- 
kothek  of  Munich,  had  there  been  an  evil  glint  in  her  light 
cool  blue  eyes.  The  fleeting  query  crossed  his  mind  as 
to  what  she  might  have  been  if  born  in  one  of  the  genera 
tions  before  the  pioneers  of  her  sex  had  opened  so  many 
gates  for  the  irruption  of  overburdened  femininity.  But 
he  merely  remarked: 

"I  am  suddenly  inspired  with  a  desire  to  see  San  Fran 
cisco.  Are  you  too  busy  ?  Are  we  too  late  for  the  tide  ?" 

"Just  in  time,"  said  Isabel,  promptly;  "and  I  shall  be 
ready  as  soon  as  the  launch  is.  Do  you  know  that  it  is 
Saturday  ?  You  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  day." 

As  they  pushed  off,  all  the  marsh  and  its  creek  was 
covered  with  a  low  white  mist  that  gave  it  the  appear 
ance  of  a  great  lake,  a  ghost  lake  through  which  the  lit 
tle  steamer  just  leaving  Rosewater  two  miles  above  coiled 
its  way  like  a  monstrous  white  bird  feeling  uneasily  for  a 
foothold.  Overhead  the  sky  was  covered  with  the  pink 
fleece  of  dawn.  The  mass  of  mountains  in  Marin  County 
looked  black  and  formless,  but  above  them  rose  the 
granite  crest  of  Tamalpais,  like  an  angular  lifted  shoulder. 

"That  mountain  has  marched  north  five  feet  in  the  last 
forty  years,"  said  Isabel,  as  she  carefully  steered  through 
the  mist.  "Either  that,  or  the  earthquake  of  1868  moved 
her  off"  her  base." 

"For  heaven's  sake  don't  tell  me  any  more  weird  tales 
about  this  country;  it  gives  me  the  horrors  often  enough 
as  it  is.  This  morning  the  hills  and  mountain  on  the 
other  side  of  the  valley  looked  like  antediluvian  monsters 
just  ready  to  turn  over." 

"  Well,  they  have  turned  over  a  few  times,  and  may  again, 

336 


A       N      C       E    _S_    T   _O R_  J> 

One  reason  we  all  love  California  is  because  we  never 
know  what  she  will  do  next,  and  because  she  is  still 
primeval  under  this  thin  coat  of  civilization  that  is  too 
tight  for  her.  I  admire  England,  but  I  could  not  live  in 
it.  It  is  too  peaceful,  too  done.  It  is  impossible  to 
imagine  any  further  change,  for  civilization  can  go  no 
further.  But  out  here — the  whole  country  may  stand  on 
its  head  any  day;  and  we  may  yet  have  cities  as  great  as 
Babylon  and  Nineveh." 

"Well,  we'll  not  be  here  to  see.  This  fog  is  just  high 
enough  to  filter  into  one's  very  marrow — even  your  pict 
uresque  pioneer  days  are  over;  I  will  confess  they  might 
have  made  me  feel  that  life  on  the  edge  of  the  world  was 
worth  while.  I  should  have  liked  to  lay  the  foundations 
of  a  great  isolated  city  like  San  Francisco;  but  I  don't  see 
any  sign  of  another  big  city.  Los  Angeles  is  a  little 
Chicago  and  may  live  to  be  a  big  one,  but  nothing  would 
induce  me  to  live  in  the  south.  However,  no  man  is 
ever  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  is  in  at  the  birth  of  a  gi;eat 
city;  our  pioneer  forefathers  were  just  a  parcel  of  ad 
venturers  crazed  with  the  lust  of  gold,  and  with  no  sense 
of  any  future  beyond  the  present." 

Isabel  leaned  forward  eagerly.  "You  have  been  think 
ing  about  San  Francisco!"  she  exclaimed,  triumphantly. 
"The  old  Otis  blood  is  beginning  to  wake  up!  Hooray!" 

Gwynne  laughed  outright,  and  for  the  first  time  without 
resentment;  he  was  tired  of  having  California  "rammed 
down  his  throat."  Isabel's  eyes  were  dancing  with  so 
purely  youthful  and  feminine  a  triumph  that  he  could  not 
but  feel  indulgent. 

"I  am  growing  reconciled  to  my  lot.  Here  I  am  and 
here  I  remain." 

337 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

"Yes,  you  are  much  happier/'  said  Isabel,  softly.  She 
half  closed  her  eyes  and  looked  a  trifle  older.  "It  worried 
me  dreadfully  at  first  to  know  that  you  were  unhappy,  and 
that  it  was  my  fault." 

"Unhappy!"  exclaimed  Gwynne,  reddening  haughtily. 
"I  have  not  been  mooning  about  like  a  homesick  ass — " 

"Oh,  your  outside  was  as  tranquil  as  your  pride  de 
manded — and  it  was  splendid!  But  I  couldn't  help 
knowing  —  feeling.  A  thousand  little  things  appeal  so 
directly  to  a  woman's  intuitions." 

"Indeed!  I  am  delighted  to  learn  that  you  possess  the 
common  intuitions  of  a  woman." 

"Am  I  unwomanly?  Masculine?"  asked  Isabel,  anx 
iously. 

"Not  in  the  ordinary  sense;  but  you  are  much  too 
strong.  No  woman  should  be  as  strong — as,  well — as 
psychically  independent  as  you  are.  It  is  as  flagrant  a 
usurpation  of  prerogative  as  a  pretty  complexion  on  a 
man." 

"I  only  say  one  prayer:  'Give  me  strength.  Give  me 
strength.'" 

"For  what,  in  heaven's  name?  What  use  have  you 
for  so  much  strength  ?  You  have  forsworn  matrimony. 
You  disclaim  the  intention  of  going  forth  and  entering  th« 
great  battle  of  the  intellects — having,  as  you  say,  no 
talents.  You  have  isolated  yourself  from  love,  so  you 
need  no  uncommon  supply  of  strength  to  meet  suffering. 
You  will  always  have  money  enough,  and  you  appear  to 
have  been  born  with  the  gift  of  making  it.  Even  if  you 
elect  to  be  the  leader  of  fachion  in  San  Francisco,  your 
equipment  need  not  be  of  unadulterated  steel.  But  I 
cannot  fancy  why  you  entertain  any  such  ambition." 

338 


A      N      C       E       S       T      O       R      S 

"That  is  the  least  of  my  ambition — although  I  intend  to 
become  the  most  notable  woman  in  San  Francisco,  not 
only  because  I  must  gratify  a  healthy  natural  ambition  in 
some  way,  and  because  I  want  my  life  to  have  a  sufficiency 
of  incident  in  it,  but  because  it  is  a  part  of  my  general 
scheme." 

"What  is  this  precious  scheme?" 

"You  would  not  understand  if  I  should  tell  you.  Men 
have  no  time  for  subjectivities — except  poets,  psychological 
fktionists,  and  the  like,  who  do  not  seem  to  me  men  at  all. 
Now,  one  reason  I  have  liked  you  from  the  first,  in  spite 
of  many  things  that  made  my  American  blood  boil,  is  that 
you  are  a  man,  a  real  masculine  arrogant  dense  man,  with 
no  feminine  morbid  tendency  to  analyze  your  ego,  in  spite 
of  your  Celtic  blood.  I  met  too  many  of  that  sort  in 
Europe." 

Gwynne,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  regarded  the 
bottom  of  the  boat  and  colored  guiltily,  while  congratulat 
ing  himself  that  for  all  her  insight  and  cleverness  she  had 
barely  penetrated  his  outer  envelope.  She  had  thought 
him  merely  homesick,  when  his  ego  had  been  tottering, 
his  soul  racked  with  doubt  and  terror;  when  he  had  spent 
long  hours  in  self-analysis;  until  the  law  had  come  to  his 
rescue  and  reinvigorated  his  brain.  At  the  same  time  a 

O 

wave  of  sadness  swept  over  him.  How  little  human 
beings  knew  one  another,  no  matter  how  intimate.  As  he 
raised  his  eyes  he  seemed  to  see  Isabel  across  a  chasm 
as  vast  as  the  Atlantic;  and  he  was  reminded  that  he 
knew  her  as  little  as  she  him.  She  had  confessed  to  the 
throes  of  what  she  believed  to  have  been  a  great  passion, 
but  when  he  had  rehearsed  the  story  away  from  the  in 
fluence  of  her  curious  cold  magnetism  and  the  sinister 

339 


ANCESTORS 

setting  of  its  recital,  he  had  recognized  it  for  what  it  was, 
the  first  violent  embrace  of  an  ardent  unshackled  imagina 
tion  with  positive  experience,  in  which  the  ego  had  played 
an  insignificant  part.  Her  immediate  recovery  upon  be 
holding  the  disintegrating  clay,  without  one  regret  for 
the  vanished  soul,  or  even  for  the  magnetic  warmth  of  the 
living  shell,  suggested  to  his  groping  masculine  intelligence, 
totally  unaccustomed  to  analysis  of  woman,  that  her  at 
tack  had  been  little  more  personal  than  if  the  man  had  in 
fected  her  with  the  microbe  of  influenza.  Surely  a  wom 
an  that  had  loved  a  man  well  enough  to  kiss  him  must 
have  been  stabbed  with  pity  for  the  ardent  vigorous  life 
thrust  out  into  the  dark.  Then  he  felt  a  quick  resent 
ment  that  anything  so  stainlessly  statuesque  as  this  girl — 
for  all  her  trim  tailoring  and  large  black  hat — should  have 
been  even  superficially  possessed  by  any  man. 

"Did  that  Johnny  ever  kiss  you  ?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"Of  course,"  replied  Isabel.  "Did  I  not  have  to,  being 
engaged  to  him  ?  Not  that  there  was  much  chance,  for  I 
never  saw  him  alone  between  four  walls.  Perhaps  that 
was  one  reason  that  side  of  love  seemed  to  me  much  over 
rated.  I  was  happiest  when  sitting  alone  in  a  sort  of 
trance  and  thinking  about  him." 

"Humph!"  said  Gwynne. 

The  mist  was  gone.  The  east  was  a  vast  alcove  of 
gold  in  which  the  hills  were  set  like  hard  dark  jewels. 
The  creek  was  narrowing.  On  either  side,  and  far  on  all 
sides,  stretched  the  marsh.  The  guileless  duck  disported 
himself  on  the  ponds,  but  Gwynne,  for  once,  was  insensi 
ble  to  its  subversive  charms,  felt  no  regret  that  he  had 
forgotten  his  gun.  He  came  and  sat  closer  to  Isabel,  won 
dering  if  she  felt  as  young  as  he  did  in  the  wonderful  fresh* 

340 


A       NCESTORS 

ness  and  beauty  of  the  dawn.  She  certainly  looked  very 
young  and  fresh  and  girlish,  not  in  the  least  fateful,  as  when 
she  turned  her  profile  against  a  hard  background  and  for 
got  his  presence. 

"I  think  I  could  quite  understand  anything  you  cared  to 
tell  me,"  he  said,  smiling  into  her  eyes.  "Please  give  me 
your  reasons  for  cultivating  the  character  of  a  Toledo 
blade.  Is  it  your  intention  to  marshal  all  the  clans  of  all 
the  advanced  women  and  lead  them  against  the  more 
occupied  and  disunited  sex  ?  I  am  told  that  it  is  a  stand 
ing  grievance  in  Rosewater  that  you  will  not  join  that 
Literary — Political — Improvement — and  all  the  rest  of 
it  Club.  I  should  think  with  your  ambitions  and — well — 
masterful  disposition,  you  would  assume  its  leadership  as 
a  sort  of  preliminary  course." 

"I  intend  to  be  a  whole  club  in  myself." 

"Appalling!  But  what  do  you  mean  by  that  cryptic 
assertion  ?  I  told  you  that  I  could  understand  anything 
you  chose  to  explain,  but,  as  they  say  out  here,  I  am  ,not 
good  at  guessing." 

"I  am  working  out  a  theory  of  my  own.  It  has  been 
demonstrated  that  labor,  capital,  all  the  known  forces,  are 
far  stronger  when  concentrated  and  organized.  I  believe 
in  concentrating  all  the  faculties  about  a  will  strong  enough 
not  only  to  conquer  life  but  all  the  inherited  weaknesses 
that  beset  one  daily  within.  That  is  a  minor  matter, 
however.  I  believe  that  our  higher  faculties  were  given 
to  u*  for  no  purpose  but  to  create  within  ourselves  an  in 
dividual  strength  that  will  add  to  the  sum  of  strength  in  the 
world.  It  is  not  necessary  to  proclaim  this  strength  from 
the  house-tops,  nor  to  search  for  windmills — a  positive 
enemy  it  would  leap  at  automatically — nor  even  to  seek 

341 


ANCESTORS 

to  improve  the  world  by  all  the  tried  and  generally  futile 
devices.  It  is  enough  to  be.  I  alone  may  not  add  greatly 
to  this  subjective  strength  of  the  world;  but  think  what  life 
would  be  did  each  individual  succeed  in  making  himself 
but  one  degree  less  strong  than  God  himself!  It  may  be 
my  destiny  to  make  propaganda  without  noise;  but  if  not, 
the  achievement  of  absolute  strength  in  myself  will  move 
the  world  forward  to  its  millennium  one-millionth  part  of  a 
degree  at  least.  For  that  will  be  the  real  millennium — when 
there  shall  be  no  despicable  weakness  in  the  world,  no 
moral  rottenness,  when  each  individual  shall  rely  upon 
himself  alone,  independent  of  the  environment  from  which 
the  majority  to-day  draw  everything  good  and  bad,  their 
happiness  or  misery.  Nothing  will  ever  purge  human 
nature  but  the  triumph  of  the  higher  faculties,  a  triumph 
accomplished  by  an  unswervingly  cultivated  and  jealously 
maintained  strength." 

"I  don't  deny  that  your  millennium  has  its  points,  but 
would  that  not  be  rather  a  hard  world  ?  What  of  love, 
the  interdependence  of  the  sexes,  and  all  the  other  human 
relations  ?" 

"It  is  love  and  interdependence  that  cause  all  the 
misery  of  the  world;  they  would  be  the  very  first  things  I 
should  relegate  among  the  minor  influences,  did  I  wield 
the  sceptre  for  an  hour.  To  women,  at  least,  all  unhap- 
piness  comes  from  the  superstition  that  love — any  sort — 
is  all.  Of  course  there  would  be  marriage,  but  of  de 
liberate  choice,  and  after  a  long  and  purely  platonic  friend 
ship,  in  which  all  the  horrid  little  failings  that  do  most  to 
dissever  could  be  recognized  and  weighed.  Free  love  and 
experimental  matrimony  are  mere  excuses  for  the  sort  of 
sensuality  that  is  shallow  and  inconstant." 

342 


ANCESTORS 

"Ah!  Then  you  would  permit  love  to  your  married 
pair  after  they  had  probed  each  other's  minds  and  man 
nerisms  for  a  year  or  two  ?  That  is  a  concession  I  hardly 
expected." 

Isabel  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  am  neither  an  idiot 
nor  blind.  Heaven  knows  I  have  seen  enough  of  reckless 
passion  and  its  consequences.  The  equipment  of  the 
mortal  proves  him  to  be  the  slave  of  the  race,  but  at  least 
he  need  not  remain  the  blind  and  ridiculous  slave  he  is  at 
present.  If  I  had  married  that  man  no  doubt  I  should 
have  loved  him  more  frantically  than  ever  for  a  time.  But 
that  would  have  passed,  left  me  resentful  of  bondage,  of 
the  surrender  of  self.  There,  above  all,  is  the  reason  I 
shall  never  marry.  Impersonally,  I  believe  in  marriage, 
or  rather  accept  it,  but  I  purpose  to  stand  apart  as  a  com 
plete  individual,  and  subtly  to  teach  others  to  drag  strength 
out  of  the  great  body  of  force  in  which  we  move,  until  they 
realize  that  in  time  mankind  may  feed  those  creative  fires, 
becoming,  who  knows,  stronger  than  the  great  first  cause 
itself." 

"And  I  have  been  called  an  egoist,"  murmured  Gwynne. 
"I  feel  a  mere — well — Leghorn — beside  this  sublime  de 
termination  to  sit  upon  the  throne  of  God  and  administer 
to  both  kingdoms.  All  the  same,  my  fair  cousin,  I  believe 
that  it  takes  a  man  and  a  woman  to  complete  the  ego.  I 
incline  to  the  picturesque  belief  that  they  were  originally 
united,  and  halved  in  some — well,  say  when  Earth  and  its 
atmosphere  became  two  distinct  parts.  No  doubt  it  was  a 
judgment  for  having  accomplished  too  much  evil  in  that 
formidable  combination.  Who  knows  but  that  may  be 
the  secret  of  the  fall  of  man;  the  uneven  progress  of  human 
nature  may  be  towards  the  resumption  of  that  state,  only 

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ANCESTORS 

to  be  attained  when  we  have  conquered  the  worst  in  our 
selves  and  become  pure  spirit." 

"That  fits  my  own  theory,  for  I  believe  that  the  two 
parts  of  what  should  have  been  a  perfect  whole  were  cut 
in  two  for  their  sins,  and  that  reunion  will  come  only  when 
each  has  absolutely  mastered  the  human  evil  in  him  and 
freed  the  spiritual,  but  this  he  can  only  accomplish 
alone—" 

"Don't  quote  Tolstoi  to  me!  He  waited  until  he  was 
old  and  cold  to  hurl  anathema  against  the  human  passions. 
Theories  upon  love  by  a  man  long  past  his  prime  are  as 
valueless  as  those  of  a  girl." 

"It  was  a  theory  I  had  no  intention  of  advancing.  I 
think  for  myself  and  pay  no  more  attention  to  the  ex 
cessive  virtue  bred  by  the  years  than  to  that  equally  illog 
ical  repentance  or  awakening  of  a  woman's  moral  nature 
when  the  man  has  ceased  to  charm  or  has  disappeared, 
That  is  a  mere  process,  and  no  augury  of  future  behavior. 
But  you  are  always  at  your  best  when  you  go  off  at  half- 
cock  like  that!  What  I  meant  was  that  woman  has 
degenerated,  not  through  passion  but  through  ages  of  the 
exercise  of  her  pettier  and  meaner  qualities.  In  some, 
these  qualities  lead  to  malignancy,  in  the  majority,  no 
doubt,  to  frivolity — still  worse,  to  my  puritanical  inheri 
tance  —  and  they  are  utterly  commonplace  of  outlook. 
Matrimony  keeps  these  qualities  in  constant  exercise,  be 
cause  the  ego  loses  its  independent  life,  its  habit  of  med 
itation,  and  is  pin-pricked  twenty  times  a  day.  It  is  by 
these  qualities  that  woman  chains  man  to  the  earth,  not 
by  her  human  passions.  I  am  quite  willing  to  concede 
that  passion  is  magnificent." 

Gwynne  ground  his  teeth.     He  had  never  encountered 
344 


A       N       C     _E_     S       T       O    _R 5 

anything  so  incongruous  as  this  beautiful  vital  superbly 
fashioned  girl  talking  of  passion  in  precisely  the  same  tone 
as  she  would  have  talked  of  chickens.  He  felt  the  primi 
tive  man's  impulse  to  beat  her  black  and  blue  and  then 
make  her  his  creature.  As  Isabel  turned  her  eyes  she  was 
astonished  at  what  she  saw  in  his.  Gwynne's  eyes  were 
blazing.  There  was  a  dark  color  in  his  face,  and  even  his 
mouth,  somewhat  heavy,  and  generally  set,  was  half  open. 
She  fancied  that  so  he  looked  when  on  a  platform  facing 
the  enemy,  and  thoroughly  awake. 

"What  are  you  angry  about  ?"  she  asked,  calmly.  "That 
I  devote  myself  to  my  sex  instead  of  to  yours  ?  They  need 
me  more  than  any  leader  they  have  evolved  so  far.  There 
are  millions  of  women  of  your  sort.  I  want  nothing  that 
your  sex  has  left  to  offer.  I  will  find  a  happiness  un 
imaginable  to  you,  in  living  absolutely  within  myself 
and  independent  of  all  that  life,  so  far,  has  to  give." 

Then  Gwynne  exploded,  and  forgot  himself.  He  flung 
himself  forward,  and  catching  her  upper  arms  in  the  grip 
of  a  vise  shook  her  until  her  teeth  clacked  together. 
"Damn  you!  Damn  you!"  he  stammered.  "What  you 
want  is  to  be  the  squaw  of  one  of  your  own  Indians!" 

"Let  me  go!"  gasped  Isabel,  furious,  and  in  sharp 
physical  pain.  "  Do  you  want  to  turn  the  boat  over  ? 
Have  you  gone  mad  ?  I'll  kick  you!" 

"Good!"  said  Gwynne,  releasing  her,  and  sitting  back. 
"That  is  the  only  feminine  speech  you  have  made  since 
I  have  known  you.  I  make  no  apology.  You  need  never 
speak  to  me  again.  Set  me  ashore  over  there.  I  can  take 
the  train  when  it  comes  along." 

"You  pinched  me!  You  hurt  me!"  cried,  Isabel  in 
wrath  and  dismay.  "I  hate  you!" 

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A       N      C     J^J^J^      0       R S 

"And  your  sentiments  are  cordially  returned.  Will  you 
put  me  on  shore  ?" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do.  You  hurt  me!  You  hurt 
me!"  And  Isabel  dropped  her  head  into  her  arms  and 
burst  into  a  wild  tempest  of  tears,  like  a  child  that  has 
had  its  first  whipping. 

Gwynne  laughed  aloud.  "We  are  running  into  a  mud 
bank,"  he  said,  "and  the  tide  is  going  out." 

Isabel  made  a  wild  clutch  at  the  tiller  ropes,  and  brought 
the  boat  back  into  the  channel.  But  she  could  scarcely 
see,  and  Gwynne  with  a  contrition  he  had  no  intention 
of  displaying  offered  to  control  the  launch.  She  vouchsafed 
him  no  reply,  and  as  she  did  not  steer  for  the  land,  he  re 
tired  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  boat  and  studied  the  scenery. 
He  was  determined  not  to  go  through  even  the  form  of  an 
apology,  but  he  was  equally  determined  upon  a  recon 
ciliation.  In  his  first  attempt  to  match  his  wits  with  a 
woman's  his  face  became  so  stony  and  intense  that  Isabel 
recovered  in  a  bound  the  serenity  she  had  been  struggling 
for,  and  laughed  with  a  gayety  that  would  have  deceived 
any  man. 

"We  are  a  couple  of  naughty  children,"  she  said,  sweetly. 
"Or  maybe  people  are  not  quite  civilized  so  early  in  the 
morning.  You  may  smoke,  if  you  like,  and  then  I 
shouldn't  mind  if  you  came  here  and  let  me  teach  you  to 
run  this  launch — it  is  probably  more  old-fashioned  than 
any  you  have  undertaken.  But  as  we  no  doubt  shall 
make  many  journeys  it  is  only  fair  that  you  should  do  half 
the  work." 


XIX 


WHEN  they  docked  at  the  foot  of  Russian  Hill, 
Isabel  suggested  that  Gwynne  should  leave  his 
portmanteau  with  Mr.  Clatt,  the  wharfinger  that  lived  at 
the  edge  of  the  sea-wall  and  looked  after  such  launches 
and  yachts  as  came  his  way. 

"I  want  you  to  stay  with  me  if  Lyster  and  Paula  will 
come  too,"  she  said,  hospitably.  "They  like  that  sort  of 
thing  when  they  happen  to  have  a  nurse.  If  they  cannot 
come  you  will  have  to  go  to  one  of  the  hotels.  In  either 
case  you  can  send  here  for  your  suit-case.  You  had  better 
take  the  Jones  Street  car — " 

"The  track  is  bust,"  said  Mr.  Clatt,  who  was  a  laconic 
person. 

"Walk  along  the  docks  to  Polk  Street  and  then  south 
until  you  find  a  car — I  think  it  turns  in  at  Pacific  Avenue. 
The  conductor  will  tell  you  where  to  transfer— 

"Are  there   no  cabs?" 

"There  are  hacks  and  coupes  at  the  livery-stables,  if  you 
care  to  expend  ten  or  fifteen  dollars  for  being  less  com 
fortable  than  in  the  cars.  Remember  our  hills  are  little 
off  the  perpendicular." 

She  did  not  see  fit  to  inform  him  that  his  business  would 
not  take  him  into  the  hilly  district,  and  watched  him  wend 
his  way  along  the  noisy,  dirty,  evil-smelling  docks  with 
some  satisfaction.  Then  she  climbed  the  steep  hill  to  her 

347 


A       N      C       E     jS_  J[_     0       R       S 

house,  over  the  crest.  There  were  many  cottages  on  this 
side  of  Russian  Hill  and  one  or  two  fine  residences,  but  be 
yond  one  cable-car  line  little  or  nothing  had  been  done  to 
make  life  easy  for  the  inhabitants.  It  was  a  bit  of  pioneer 
San  Francisco.  One  day,  no  doubt,  there  would  be  a 
boulevard  at  its  foot,  the  rough  inhospitable  cliff  would  be 
terraced,  and  set  with  the  country-like  villas  of  people  that 
appreciated  the  beauties  of  the  bay  and  Tamalpais,  but 
at  present  a  carriage  could  not  mount  it,  and  it  made  no 
appeal  to  the  luxurious. 

An  elderly  couple  lived  in  the  "Belmont  House"  and 
did  all  that  was  necessary  in  the  present  stage  of  Isabel's 
fortunes.  She  found  the  woman  house-cleaning  and  the  old 
man  weeding  among  the  abundant  crysanthemums  and 
asters  in  the  half  acre  which  still  surrounded  the  old 
mansion.  She  gave  her  orders  and  started  for  the  home  of 
her  sister.  A  belated  trade-wind  was  screaming  through 
the  city  driving  the  dust  before  it.  Isabel  looked  down  at 
the  towers  and  the  domes,  the  steeples  and  walls  of  the 
great  modern  buildings,  the  low  city  built  in  the  days 
when  San  Franciscans  still  feared  earthquakes,  all  loom 
ing  through  the  torn  brown  veil  like  the  mirage  of  a  city 
infinitely  distant.  But  San  Francisco  was  rarely  more 
beautiful  than  in  a  dust-storm,  which  recombined  her  out 
lines  and  the  patchwork  of  her  crowded  generations  into 
something  like  harmony.  She  looked  dreaming,  proud, 
detached,  an  houri  veiled  to  allure,  to  inspire  a  new  race 
of  poets.  Gwynne  holding  his  hat  on  his  head  with 
both  hands,  in  the  valley,  cursed  the  climate,  but  Isabel 
picking  her  way  down  the  crazy  old  staircase,  although 
in  anything  but  a  poetical  mood,  paused  a  moment  with 
that  sudden  outrush  and  uplift  that  was  the  only  passion 

348 


A       N      C       E       S T__     O       R       S 

she  had  ever  known.  Such  moments  were  not  frequent 
and  brought  with  them  a  sense  of  impersonality,  as  if  she 
were  but  the  vehicle  of  aspiring  passionate  souls  long  gone 
from  their  own  clay,  that  rushed  back  through  familiar 
conduits  like  volcanic  fires,  eager  for  the  arch  of  the 
visible  world. 

But  ancestral  rights  had  short  shrift  this  morning. 
Isabel's  spirit  was  a  very  caldron.  She  not  only  still 
raged  at  the  fact  that  for  a  few  seconds  she  had  been  as 
helpless  in  the  grip  of  mere  brute  strength  as  any  peasant 
woman,  but  she  was  keenly  disappointed  that  Gwynne 
had  not  understood  her.  That  he  might  have  understood 
her  too  well,  his  whole  sex  precipitating  itself  upon  the  new 
enemy,  she  would  not  admit  for  a  moment;  women,  with 
a  sort  of  dishonest  mental  confusion,  invariably  substi 
tuting  the  word  misunderstood  for  failure  to  accept  their 
own  point  of  view.  Above  all,  was  she  furious  with 
herself.  Instead  of  annihilating  him  with  the  dignity  of 
which  she  possessed  an  uncommon  share,  she  had  been 
surprised  into  behaving  as  if  she  were  the  crudest  of  mere 
human  creatures. 

Moreover,  her  arms  still  pained,  and  she  knew  that  they 
were  black  and  blue. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bluff  she  ran  into  a  basement  doorway 
to  pin  on  her  veil  more  securely,  and  dismissed  psychology 
as  incompatible  with  trade-winds  and  dust.  A  block  or 
two  farther  on  she  took  a  cable  car  which  slipped  rapidly 
down  the  western  slope,  across  the  narrow  valley,  then  up 
another  and  steeper  hill,  all  blooming  with  flowers  in  the 
narrow  gardens.  She  alighted  at  a  corner  half-way  to 
the  summit,  and  walked  back  to  one  of  those  curious  San 
Francisco  "Flat  Houses"  with  three  doors  in  a  row.  It 

349 


ANCESTORS 

was  perched  high  above  the  sidewalk,  for  the  street  but  a 
few  years  since  was  a  gully,  and  the  grading  had  deepened 
it.  It  was  reached  by  some  sixty  winding  but  solid  steps, 
and  the  little  terrace,  off  at  a  right  angle,  was  full  of 
color. 

As  she  had  expected,  Mrs.  Paula  was  sitting  in  the  bow- 
window  of  her  bedroom,  gazing  at  the  passers-by  with  a 
sort  of  idle  eagerness.  But  so  were  a  hundred  others  in 
sight,  there  being  no  idler  creature  than  the  American  wom 
an  of  small  means,  who  neither  belongs  to  clubs  nor  does 
her  own  work.  The  shallow  philosophers  harp  upon  the 
boredom  of  the  idle  rich  whose  every  wish  is  gratified;  but 
as  a  matter  of  fact  the  rich  are  seldom  idle,  and  in  highly 
organized  societies  are  models  of  system  and  energy; 
whether  misdirected  or  not,  is  beyond  the  question.  It  is 
the  idle  woman  in  a  flat  whose  imagination  riots  along  the 
highways  of  the  great  world,  who  keeps  an  avid  eye  for 
change  of  any  sort,  and  finds  a  fictitious  existence  in  the 
sentimental,  the  immoral,  and  the  society  novel. 

Paula,  who  lived  in  the  top  flat,  ran  down  the  two  flights 
of  stairs  and  opened  the  door  for  Isabel. 

"Well!  you  are  a  stranger!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  was 
wondering  if  your  chickens  had  tuberculosis.  Lots  have 
ir^Ctlifornia.  I  read  it  in  a  Sunday  newspaper." 

"My  chickens  are  quite  healthy.  How  are  the  chil 
dren  ?" 

"As  well  as  can  be  expected  in  this  dusty  windy  city 
where  they  have  to  stay  in  the  house  half  the  day."  Mrs. 
Stone's  children  were  notoriously  healthy,  but  she  was  of 
the  stuff  of  which  the  modern  martyr  is  made. 

Isabel  followed  her  up  the  stairs  and  into  the  large 
sunny  front  bedroom.  The  children  being  invisible  and 

350 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

also  inarticulate,  were  doubtless  in  the  back  yard.  The 
room  was  vaguely  untidy  without  being  dirty.  A  basket 
of  socks  and  stockings  in  various  stages  of  repair  stood  on 
a  table  by  the  window,  but  pushed  aside  to  accommodate 
the  Saturday  society  papers  and  a  novel  from  the  circu 
lating  library.  An  opera-cloak  lay  across  a  chair,  flung 
there,  no  doubt,  the  night  before,  and  on  the  floor  close 
by  was  a  pair  of  pink  worn  slippers  very  narrow  at  the 
toes  but  bulging  backward  like  a  toy  boat.  On  the  sofa 
was  a  freshly  laundried  pile  of  shirts  with  detached  col 
lars  and  cuffs,  which  Mrs.  Stone  immediately  began  os 
tentatiously  to  snip  along  the  frayed  edges.  The  room 
itself  was  full  of  sunshine,  which  gave  it  a  cheerful  air  in 
spite  of  the  faded  Brussels  carpet  and  the  old-fashioned 
walnut  furniture,  a  contribution  from  the  house  on  Rus 
sian  Hill.  Mrs.  Paula  wore  a  vastly  becoming  wrapper 
of  red  nun's  veiling  trimmed  with  a  yellowish  lace  that  by 
no  means  looked  as  cheap  as  it  was.  She  was  pretty  to 
excess,  one  of  those  little  brown  women  that  men  admire 
and  often  trust.  Had  she  been  thin  she  would  have  been 
bird-like  with  her  bright  darting  brown  glance,  but  her 
cheeks,  like  her  tightly  laced  little  figure,  were  very  round, 
and  so  crimson  that  they  excited  less  suspicion  than  the 
more  delicate  and  favorite  pink.  And  the  brilliant  color 
suited  her  peasant  style  of  prettiness,  her  full  red  lips,  her 
bright  crisp  bronze  hair.  She  had  a  fashion  of  absently 
sweeping  the  loose  sleeves  of  her  wrapper  and  "artistic" 
house-gowns  up  to  her  shoulder  and  revealing  a  plump 
and  charming  arm;  and  the  pointed  toe  of  shoe  or  slipper 
was  always  visible.  Her  arts  were  lost  on  Isabel,  who  un 
derstood  and  despised  her,  but  who  regarded  her  as  a 
sacred  legacy  from  her  mother;  Mrs.  Belmont  had  been 

351 


ANCESTORS 

devoted  to  the  pretty  child  she  had  adopted  just  after 
burying  three  of  her  own,  and  who  had  waited  on  her 
hand  and  foot  to  the  day  of  her  death.  Isabel  was  always 
conscious  of  putting  on  a  curb  the  moment  she  entered 
her  sister's  presence,  but  thought  it  good  discipline,  and 
only  spoke  her  mind  when  goaded  beyond  endurance. 

"I  tried  to  telephone,"  she  began,  but  was  interrupted 
by  a  deep  sigh. 

"The  telephone  is  cut  off — we  owe  for  three  months. 
Hateful  things! — they  know  we  always  pay  some  time  or 
other/' 

"If  you  are  so  badly  off  would  it  not  be  more  econom 
ical  to  make  the  children's  clothes — 

"Isabel!  Much  you  know  about  children!  One  can 
buy  ready-made  things  for  just  half." 

Isabel  subsided,  for  she  felt  herself  at  a  disadvantage 
before  this  experienced  young  matron;  although  she  vague 
ly  recalled  that  whenever  she  had  presented  the  children 
with  little  frocks  and  sailor  suits  she  had  expended  a  con 
siderable  sum.  But  doubtless  she  had  gone  to  the  wrong 
shops.  Mrs.  Paula  was  one  of  those  women  that  haunted 
the  cheap  shops  and  bargain-counters,  and  was  always  in 
debt. 

"What  a  heavenly  suit!"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  roving 
covetously  over  Isabel's  smart  black  costume.  "Paris, 
I  suppose.  Fancy  being  able  to  walk  into  a  store  and 
order  a  new  dress  whenever  you  feel  like  it.  I  have  never 
done  that  in  all  my  life — 

"It  was  for  that  I  settled  an  income  upon  you  before  I 
left  for  Europe,  but  if  it  is  not  enough  to  buy  a  new  frock 
occasionally — •" 

"Oh,  it  would  be  enough  if  I  could  use  it  for  that  pur- 
352 


ANCESTORS 

pose,  but  you  know  what  my  life  is!  If  Lyster  would  only 
live  economically — but  it  is  dining  out  at  a  restaurant  five 
nights  a  week  —  champagne  half  the  time,  especially  if 
wre  have  a  guest,  and  we  generally  have — a  Californian 
thinks  himself  disgraced  if  he  doesn't  give  invited  com 
pany  champagne.  It's  all  very  well  to  brag  about  the 
magnificence  and  generosity  of  this  town — when  you  can 
afford  to.  But  most  everybody  /  know,  at  least,  can't, 
and  when  the  first  of  the  month  comes,  I  guess  the  women 
all  wish  that  San  Francisco  was  more  like  New  York, 
where  they  say  every  Californian  in  time  avoids  every 
other  Californian  for  fear  he'll  want  to  borrow  five  dollars, 
and  all  the  men  let  themselves  go  wild  over  Emma  Eames 
because  she's  proper  and  doesn't  cost  anything.  It's  time 
we  reformed  instead  of  flinging  money  about  like  European 
princes — spending  four  times  as  much  as  you've  got  for 
fear  of  being  called  stingy.  A  San  Franciscan  would 
rather  be  called  a  murderer  than  mean.  I  talk  and  talk, 
and  it's  no  use.  A  terrible  thing  has  happened  to  us,"  she 
ended,  abruptly. 

"What?"  asked  Isabel,  startled;  she  had  lent  an  in 
different  ear  to  the  familiar  harangue. 

"Lyster  has  gone  on  a  newspaper  —  the  Ventilator. 
Fancy — Lyster  a  newspaper  artist — making  pictures  of 
prize-fights,  actresses,  murderers,  and  society  women  at 
the  opera.  It  was  that  or  the  street,  and  Lyster  was 
frightened  for  once  in  his  life.  We  owe  for  every  mortal 
thing  as  well  as  the  telephone." 

"That  is  the  best  thing  I  have  ever  heard  of  Lyster," 
said  Isabel,  imperturbably.  "But  when  he  gets  a  re 
spectable  sum  of  money  for  a  picture,  as  he  did  a  little 
while  ago,  why  on  earth  doesn't  he  pay  his  bills,  and 

353 


ANCESTORS 

make  a  fresh  start?  I  thought  he  had  when  I  was 
down." 

"Those  two  weeks  cost  a  good  deal,"  said  Paula, 
softly. 

Isabel  colored  but  controlled  her  anger  as  she  had 
many  times  before.  "I  was  under  the  impression  that  the 
check  I  gave  you  when  I  left — " 

"Oh  yes,  but  then  you  really  don't  know  much  about  the 
cost  of  things,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  you  run  a  farm.  We 
always  had  an  extra  man  for  you — 

"I  could  well  have  dispensed  with  the  dissipated  fad- 
ridden  specimens  you  produced  for  my  entertainment. 
I  did  not  meet  a  sober  man  during  the  entire  fortnight. 
What  is  the  amount  of  your  indebtedness  ?  I  will  pay 
half,  but  no  more." 

She  knew  that  it  would  be  wiser  to  demand  the  bills  and 
herself  pay  something  on  account  to  the  desperate  creditors, 
but  she  revolted  from  playing  the  mentor  to  that  extent. 
When  Paula,  after  a  frowning  bout  with  a  pencil  and  a 
sheet  of  paper,  announced  the  sum  that  would  tide  them 
over,  Isabel  was  quite  aware  that  she  was  facing  the  entire 
amount.  However,  she  wrote  a  check,  merely  extracting 
a  facile  promise  that  it  should  be  devoted  to  its  legitimate 
purpose,  and  not  to  champagne  or  frills. 

"I  will  also  send  you  down  one  or  two  tailor  suits  I  have 
little  use  for,"  she  added.  "Things  are  so  cheap  in 
Europe  that  I  was  often  betrayed  into  buying  more  than  I 
wanted.  They  can  easily  be  altered." 

"Thanks!"  said  Paula.  "I  am  not  the  style  for  tailor- 
made  things,  but  goodness  knows  I  am  glad  enough  to 
get  anything." 

Isabel  glanced  doubtfully  at  the  slippers.  "I  have  so 
354 


A    JV^  J2_ _^E_  _S_  JT^  _O R S 

many  boots.  They  are  rather  an  extravagance  with  me — - 
but  I  am  afraid  my  foot  is  longer  than  yours." 

"Yes,"  said  Paula,  complacently,  as  she  threaded  a 
darning-needle.  "My  foot  is  quite  fearfully  small." 

Isabel,  who  knew  her  foot  to  be  far  more  slender  and 
elegant  than  the  plebeian  member  that  never  dared  ex 
pose  itself  beyond  the  instep,  nearly  overflowed  with 
feminine  wrath;  but  she  swallowed  it,  and  remarked  in  a 
moment : 

"I  had  quite  forgotten  why  I  tried  to  telephone.  Mr. 
Gwynne  came  down  with  me  and  I  should  like  to  show 
him  about  a  bit.  Of  course  I  cannot  do  it  alone;  what 
is  more,  I  want  him  to  stay  in  my  house.  Nothing  could 
exceed  his  hospitality  to  me  in  England,  and  I  should  hate 
the  idea  of  sending  him  to  a  hotel  when  I  have  a  house 
with  eight  bedrooms.  Couldn't  you  and  Lyster  come  up 
and  stay  for  a  couple  of  days  ?  And  if  Lyster  will  show 
Mr.  Gwynne  the  town,  as  indeed  he  has  suggested  more 
than  once,  it  must  be  understood  that  the  expense'  is 
mine." 

"Lyster  would  never  permit  it,"  said  Paula,  grandly. 
"You  know  what  he  is — he  even  lends  more  than  he 
borrows;  that  is  one  reason  why  we  are  always  so  hard  up. 
He  is  simply  dying  to  show  Mr.  Gwynne  about.  And 
that  means  that  he'll  spend  a  month's  salary  before  he 
gets  it." 

"Then  I  will  pay  the  month's  bills.  You  must  manage 
it  as  I  wish  or  I  return  to-day." 

Isabel  knew  that  Stone,  if  not  generous  in  the  higher 
sense,  was  delighted  to  play  the  extravagant  host,  and 
never  failed  to  assume  the  role  when  he  had  money  or 
credit.  And  if  he  was  the  freest  and  most  debonair  of 

355 


ANCESTOR     _5 

borrowers  at  least  he  repaid  when  unusually  prosperous; 
and  he  prided  himself  upon  never  having  borrowed  from 
a  woman.  Once  when  Isabel,  who  could  not  help  liking 
him,  had  offered  to  pay  his  debts,  he  had  promptly  ascend 
ed  from  the  depths  of  depression  in  which  she  had  discov 
ered  him  before  his  easel,  and  replied,  gayly: 

"Not  yet!  The  sort  of  man  that  borrows  money  from 
a  woman  is  the  sort  of  man  that  has  no  intention  of  paying 
it  back.  I  am  not  that  sort." 

With  a  wife  who  was  or  had  been  an  adoring  slave, 
it  was  little  wonder  that  Stone's  original  selfishness  had 
become  abnormally  enhanced,  and  Isabel  took  into  account 
the  feminine  silliness  of  which  he  had  been  a  victim  since 
birth.  His  mother,  well-born,  southern,  indolent,  had 
indulged  him  in  every  whim  during  his  boyhood;  then 
when  the  familiar  San  Francisco  crash  came,  he  had 
turned  to  actual  work  with  an  exceeding  ill  grace.  The 
easy  ladies  of  the  lower  slopes,  with  whom  he  had  tastes 
more  than  Bohemian  in  common,  had  admired  him  ex 
travagantly,  and  when  he  finally  met  a  girl  that  suited  his 
tastes  as  exactly,  and  was  respectable  lo  boot,  he  became 
a  devoted  if  somewhat  erratic  husband.  He  was  now 
thirty-eight  and  all  hope  of  graduation  from  perpetual 
irresponsible  boyhood  had  been  destroyed  long  since  by  a 
woman  abjectly  in  love  with  him  and  too  shrewd  to  an 
tagonize  him.  With  a  strong  brain  and  character  a  wife 
might  have  kept  him  on  the  upward  artistic  path  and 
converted  him  to  a  measure  of  domesticity.  But  Paula 
had  neither,  was,  moreover,  quite  satisfied  with  her  mental 
equipment  and  blooming  little  person;  so  much  so  indeed 
that  of  late  she  was  beginning  to  think  herself  thrown 
away,  a  matrimonial  offering;  to  weary  of  being  the  mere 

35^ 


A      N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

annex  of  her  brilliant  husband.  She  was  very  clever  in 
her  fashion,  however,  and  Stone  still  thought  her  his  will 
ing  slave,  although  curtain  lectures  were  less  infrequent 
than  of  yore.  And  she  had  learned  to  manage  him  in  many 
ways  he  would  have  thought  it  a  waste  of  time  to  suspect. 

"It  will  be  all  right,"  she  said  to  Isabel.  "He  always 
thinks  I  have  more  money  than  I  have,  for  he  never  could 
do  arithmetic  at  school  and  still  believes  that  two  and  two 
make  five.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  get  out  of  this  sky 
scraper  for  a  few  days."  And_then  she  asked,  insinuatingly, 
if  she  could  not  take  the  children. 

But  upon  this  point  Isabel  was  obdurate,  knowing 
that  if  Paula  once  planted  her  entire  family  in  the  Bel- 
mont  House  the  police  could  not  uproot  them.  Moreover, 
although  she  liked  children,  she  detested  Paula's.  They 
were  pert  and  spoiled,  untidy  and  noisy,  although  handsome 
and  highly  bred  of  feature.  She  never  saw  them  that  she 
did  not  fall  into  a  sort  of  panic  at  the  thought  that  similar 
little  creatures  full  of  present  and  potential  nuisance  might 
have  been  her  own,  and  then  felt  extraordinarily  light  of 
spirit  in  the  reflection  that  she  had  escaped  a  lot  she  had 
as  yet  seen  no  reason  to  envy. 

"Have  you  no  nurse  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh  yes.  She  has  been  threatening  to  leave  —  has 
been  fearfully  disagreeable — but  I  suppose  she  will  stay, 
now  that  I  can  pay  her."  Mrs.  Paula  wisely  gave  up  the 
point  and  invited  her  visitor  to  remain  for  luncheon.  But 
Isabel  rose  hastily. 

"I  must  go  home  and  see  that  everything  is  in  order — 
the  beds  aired,  and  lunch  prepared  for  Mr.  Gwynne  in 
case  he  should  turn  up.  Then  you  will  come  about  four  ? 
And  we  will  dine  out  somewhere  ?" 

357 


ANCESTORS 

"I'll  pack  all  the  decent  things  I  possess  and  send  them 
up  right  away.  Fortunately  the  dress  Lyster  gave  me  last 
month  is  quite  fresh,  so  I  shall  not  feel  too  small  beside 
your  magnificence,  and  I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Gwynne,  even 
if  he  is  an  Englishman,  does  not  dress  any  better  than 

T  » 

Lyster. 

"Not  a  bit.  We  shall  have  some  jolly  times  together. 
Mr.  Gwynne  is  very  anxious  to  meet  you." 

"Well,  he  has  not  been  in  any  particular  hurry.  Still, 
it  will  be  fearfully  nice,  and  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come 
down  at  last." 


XX 


IT  was  characteristic  of  Mrs.  Paula  that  she  was  not  in 
the  least  jealous  of  Isabel's  beauty.  She  was  quite 
positive  that  no  man  would  hesitate  between  her  own 
exuberant  prettiness  and  a  face  and  form  that  looked 
as  if  it  had  stepped  down  from  a  dingy  old  canvas.  It  was 
true  that  Stone  admired  Isabel — with  reservations  to  his 
wife — and  had  openly  avowed  his  intention  to  paint  her 
when  he  emerged  from  the  tyranny  of  the  pot-boiler. 
He  had  hoped  that  Isabel  would  take  the  graceful  hint  and 
order  a  portrait,  but  Isabel  had  succumbed  to  the  plead 
ings  of  too  many  students  of  indifferent  talent,  and  had  no 
intention  of  undergoing  the  ordeal  of  sittings  again  to  any 
but  a  master.  To-night,  as  the  party  of  four  entered  The 
Poodle  Dog — the  socially  successfully  offspring  of  the 
still  enterprising  and  disreputable  parent  on  the  dark 
slope  above — Paula  deliberately  outstripped  her  com 
panions  and  appropriated  the  seat,  at  the  corner  table 
reserved  for  them,  that  faced  the  room.  Isabel  was  only 
too  delighted  to  turn  her  back  upon  the  staring  people,  for 
it  had  occurred  to  her  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  to  be 
uneasily  ashamed  of  her  adopted  relative.  She  had  gone 
about  with  her  several  times  since  her  return  from  Eu 
rope,  and  absently  disapproved  of  a  somewhat  eccentric 
tendency  in  dress,  but  to  all  sorts  of  odd  costuming 
she  had  grown  accustomed  during  her  experience  of  art 

359 


ANCESTORS 

circles  abroad.  This  evening,  as  she  stood  in  her  living- 
room  with  Gwynne  and  watched  Paula  sail  down  the 
broad  staircase,  she  had  a  sudden  vision  of  the  shanty 
at  the  northern  base  of  Russian  Hill  where  Mrs.  Belmont 
had  found  her  little  Mexican  seamstress,  deserted  by  her 
American  husband,  wailing  over  the  child  she  was  about 
to  leave.  This  story  had  always  inspired  Isabel  with  the 
profoundest  pity,  tempering  her  frequent  impatience  and 
disgust  towards  the  family  alien,  but  to-night  she  wished 
for  a  few  moments  that  her  mother  had  sent  Paula  to  a 
foundling  asylum.  She  glanced  uneasily  at  Gwynne  and 
fancied  she  could  hear  him  slam  the  lid  of  his  breeding 
upon  a  supercilious  sputter.  Mrs.  Paula's  skirt  and  the 
jacket  on  her  arm  were  a  respectable  brown,  but  there 
was  something  in  the  screaming  red  blouse,  the  immense 
cheap  red  hat,  the  blazing  cheeks,  the  pinched  waist  be 
tween  swelling  bust  and  hips,  the  already  lifted  skirt — 
Paula  always  wore  a  train  that  she  might  at  the  same 
time  achieve  longer  lines  and  more  subtle  opportunities — 
exhibiting  the  pointed  bronze  slipper  with  a  large  red  bow 
and  much  open  work  above,  that  suggested,  if  not  the 
French  cocotte,  at  least  that  San  Francisco  variety  known 
in  local  parlance  as  "South  of  Market  Street  Chippy." 
She  did  not  bear  the  remotest  likeness  to  a  lady.  She 
looked  common,  fast.  Isabel  wondered  that  she  had  never 
faced  the  truth  before.  It  was  as  if  a  wave  of  final  crit 
icism  heaved  from  the  brain  of  the  man  whose  life  had 
been  passed  in  the  best  societies  of  the  world  across  to 
hers.  But  Gwynne  was  imperturbable  and  polite,  and 
as  they  rode  down-town  in  the  bright  cars  Paula  thought 
him  "fearfully  nice"  and  was  quite  sure  that  he  admired 
her. 

360 


ANCESTORS 

"We  are  fearfully  late,"  she  remarked,  complacently,  as 
she  seated  herself  and  looked  slowly  around  the  big  room 
with  its  ornate  frescoes  and  heavy  chandeliers,  its  crowded 
tables  and  strange  assortment  of  types.  "But  it  is  much 
nicer — to  see  them  all  at  once,  I  mean,"  she  added,  un 
truthfully. 

Gwynne,  whose  seat  also  commanded  a  view  of  the 
room,  looked  about  him  with  much  interest.  He  had  a 
vague  association  of  impropriety  with  the  name  of  the 
restaurant,  but  he  saw  only  a  few  painted  females  and 
queer-looking  men.  The  majority  looked  as  if  they  be 
longed  to  the  higher  walks  of  Bohemia,  and  quite  a  fourth 
were  indubitably  fashionable.  But  his  more  vivid  im 
pression  was  that  they  all  looked  gay  and  care-free,  and 
that  their  personalities  were  not  wholly  obscured  by  clothes. 
After  lunching  or  dining  at  one  of  the  great  New  York 
restaurants  he  had  carried  away  the  impression  of  a 
tremendously  fashionable  school  in  uniform — the  women 
distinguished  in  appearance  beyond  those  of  any  other 
American  city,  but  utterly  unindividual.  The  social  bodies 
of  the  United  States  had  interested  him  little,  but  to-night 
he  glanced  about  with  something  of  the  curiosity  of  a 
Columbus  discovering  the  land  of  his  fathers.  No  doubt 
his  Otis  great-grandfather  had  been  intimate  with  the 
great-grandfathers  of  more  than  one  man  present;  in  this 
remote  bit  of  civilization  he  almost  felt  as  if  he  were 
sitting  down  with  a  company  of  relatives,  at  the  least 
to  a  gathering  of  the  clans.  And  he  had  rarely  seen  so 
many  handsome  women  together,  nor  such  a  variety  of 
types. 

Paula,  who  knew  every  one  by  sight  and  assiduously 
read  the  society  papers,  volunteered  much  information 


ANCESTORS 

while  Isabel  ordered  the  dinner;  Stone  had  been  detained 
half-way  down  the  room  by  a  party  of  friends. 

"That  is  Mrs.  Masten,"  she  whispered,  with  a  respect 
ful  accent  on  the  name  and  in  the  significant  tone  she 
always  employed  when  addressing  a  person  of  social  im 
portance.  "The  youngish  tall  woman  with  white  hair 
and  distinguished  profile.  She  is  one  of  the  old  set — the 
one  Mrs.  Belmont  belonged  to — and  fearfully  haughty. 
Some  people  call  her  a  beauty,  but  how  can  a  woman  be  a 
beauty  with  white  hair  ?  Lots  get  it  here  and  lose  their 
complexions  before  they  are  twenty-five.  It  is  the  wind 
and  nerves  and  too  many  good  times.  I  wonder  I  have 
not  gone  off  too,  but  I  take  a  nap  every  day  no  matter  what 
happens.  Just  beyond  is  Mrs.  Trennahan.  She  never 
did  have  any  beauty  with  that  sallow  skin  and  no  feature 
except  her  eyes;  but  her  husband,  who  was  a  great  swell 
in  New  York,  and  often  takes  her  there,  is  quite  devoted 
to  her,  and  they  have  a  house  on  Nob  Hill  and  another  in 
Menlo  Park.  She  is  so  exclusive  that  it  is  a  wonder  she  ever 
condescends  to  dine  in  a  restaurant;  but  Mr.  Trennahan  is 
a  fearfully  high  liver,  and  this  kitchen  is  famous.  Mrs. 
Trennahan's  mother,  Mrs.  Yorba,  who  led  society  in  the 
Eighties,  had  only  ninety  people  on  her  visiting  list,  and 
they  say  that  her  parties  were  the  dullest  ever  given  in  San 
Francisco.  Of  course  that  was  before  I  was  born.  The 
glory  of  that  prehistoric  crowd  has  departed,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  a  few  of  them — not  many — have  kept  their 
fortunes — and  they  are  nothing  to  the  new  ones.  The 
Irish  and  Germans  are  on  top  now  and  are  just  ruling 
things  —  people  whose  very  names  our  mothers  never 
heard,  although  they  were  making  their  piles  without  say 
ing  much  about  it.  They  have  come  forward  in  the  last 

362 


ANCESTORS 

five  or  six  years  with  a  rush.  All  the  old  leaders  are  dead, 
and  their  children  don't  seem  to  care  much — just  stand 
as'.de  and  put  on  airs.  One  of  the  new  leaders  has  a 
brogue.  And  as  for  Mrs.  Hofer  —  take  a  good  look  at 
her." 

Paula  indicated  a  tall  superbly  proportioned  young 
woman  in  a  simple  Parisian  black  gown  and  an  immense 
black  hat  with  a  cascade  of  white  feathers  rolling  over  the 
brim;  she  had  a  round  laughing  face  and  an  air  of  inde 
scribable  buoyancy.  "She  was  born  and  brought  up  south 
of  Market  Street,  in  the  respectable  part,  but  a  dead  give 
away  in  her  generation:  she's  only  twenty-six.  I  forget 
what  her  old  peasant  grandfather  started  life  as,  a  peddler, 
probably,  but  afterwards  he  had  a  dry-goods  store,  or  shoes 
or  something,  and  he  bought  real  estate,  and  his  son  im 
proved  it,  so  now  they  are  rich.  She  was  educated  at  the 
public  schools,  went  to  the  University  for  a  year,  had 
two  more  in  Europe,  and  came  back  with  what  they  call 
presence  and  style,  but  is  just  cheek  dressed  up.  She 
hadn't  much  show  socially,  but  she  didn't  lose  any  time 
capturing  Nicolas  Hofer,  the  son  of  a  German  emigrant, 
who  made  money  in  the  commission  business  which  his  sons 
have  turned  into  millions.  All  the  men  like  him,  and  as 
he  was  a  great  catch,  of  course  he  went  everywhere;  and 
when  he  married  they  had  to  accept  his  wife.  She  did  the 
rest,  and  no  one  can  deny  that  she  is  smart — in  our  sense 
and  yours!  She  is  a  leader  already,  and  has  a  perfectly 
wonderful  house,  that  all  the  old  aristocrats  fall  over  them 
selves  to  get  invited  to.  I'd  like  to  go  there  myself,  but  of 
course  I'm  nobody.  Hofer  poses  as  a  reformer,  but  I 
guess  this  old  town's  too  much  for  him — 

"Nicolas  Hofer?"  asked  Gwynne,  with  interest.  *' I 
a*  363 


ANCESTORS 

fancy  that  is  the  man  my  mother  met  at  Homburg  and 
asked  me  to  call  on." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Paula,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 
"If  you  are  going  in  for  fine  society  you  will  soon  have  no 
use  for  us." 

Gwynne,  being  unaccustomed  to  crudities  of  this  sort, 
applied  himself  to  his  oysters,  while  Isabel  made  a  fierce 
resolution  that  she  would  find  another  chaperon  or  re 
main  in  the  country.  She  was  disagreeably  conscious  of 
craning  necks,  and  although  she  knew  that  she  was  be 
ginning  to  excite  interest  in  San  Francisco,  and  was  look 
ing  her  best  in  a  white  cloth  frock  and  large  white  hat,  she 
made  no  doubt  that  her  juxtaposition  to  the  exotic  Paula 
was  the  theme  of  more  than  one  unpleasant  comment. 
While  she  liked  Bohemia  and  was  entirely  indifferent  to 
shabbiness,  she  had  never  grown  accustomed  to  vulgarities, 
and  that  they  should  be  embodied  in  her  adopted  sister 
filled  her  with  a  futile  wrath. 

Stone  hurried  to  his  neglected  party,  waving  his  hand 
genially.  He  was  a  very  tall  loosely  built  man,  with  a 
sensuous  laughing  mouth  and  an  eye  that  was  seldom 
sober.  He  carried  wine  in  his  spirit  as  well  as  in  his  skin, 
and  if  the  latter  had  bagged  a  trifle  under  its  burden,  the 
spirit  was  only  depressed  by  the  morning  headache,  and 
few  men  were  more  popular. 

"Know  what  kept  me  ?"  he  demanded,  as  he  doubled  a 
huge  Eastern  oyster — for  the  others  Isabel  had  ordered 
the  more  delicate  Californian,  but  Stone's  interior  de 
manded  a  sterner  nourishment.  "Isabel,  you  are  famous. 
At  first  it  was  the  men.  Now  it  is  the  women  too.  It  was 
like  you,  dearie,  to  put  Isabel  opposite  that  mirror  where 
everybody  can  see  her,  but  in  which  she  looks  just  one 

364 


A       N      C      E       S       T      O       R       S 

degree  further  removed  from  common  mortals.  Takes  an 
artist's  wife!  No  use,  my  sister.  The  Eggopolis  must 
take  care  of  itself,  the  chickens  be  left  to  roost  alone. 
San  Francisco  wants  you,  and  what  she  wants  she  gets — 
what  is  the  matter,  darling  ?"  The  corners  of  his  little 
wife's  mouth  were  down  and  her  chin  was  trembling. 

"You  might  have  paid  me  one  compliment!"  she  enun 
ciated,  between  anger  and  tears. 

"Good  heavens,  sweetheart,  you  are  as  familiar  to  them 
as  Lotta's  fountain.  You  are  an  old  story — and  always 
beautiful,"  he  added,  gallantly.  "But  Isabel!  We  raise 
the  voluptuous  by  the  score,  Gwynne,  houris  to  beat  the 
band.  Climate's  a  regular  Venus  factory;  but  somehow 
we  don't  get  the  classic  very  often.  Too  mixed,  probably. 
Will  have  to  wait  another  generation  or  two.  Eyes,  com 
plexions,  figures — -ye  gods!  But  noses  —  somehow  they 
run  to  snub.  Still!  Look  over  there.  Ever  see  anything 
more  fetching  than  those  great  Irish  eyes  in  a  regular  little 
Dago  mug  ?  She's  worth  three  cold  millions  and  I  pine  to 
paint  her.  The  price  would  be  a  mere  detail.  But  to 
return  to  Isabel.  She  has  only  to  raise  her  finger  to  be 
come  the  rage,  and  I  want  her  to  raise  it." 

"I  wonder  how  much  they  would  care  for  her  if  she 
hadn't  been  born  into  one  of  the  sacred  old  families,  and 
hadn't  money  to  boot!"  cried  Mrs.  Stone,  exasperated 
beyond  endurance  by  this  triumph  of  marital  tactlessness. 
"I'd  like  to  know  what  chance  a  poor  girl  has  to  turn 
people's  heads — " 

"Tut!  tut!  Brownie,  you're  jealous.  You  know  there 
never  was  a  town  where  people  cared  less  about  money — 

"It's  just  like  any  other  old  town,  only  you  have  silly 
legends  about  it  that  you  stick  to  in  the  face  of  facts. 

365 


ANCESTORS 

That  day  Isabel  took  me  to  the  St.  Francis  for  lunch  I 
never  saw  so  many  stuck-up-looking  girls  in  my  life,  and 
they  all  looked  as  if  they  had  just  sailed  out  of  New  York 
fashion-plates.  There  are  only  about  six  really  fashion 
able  women  here  to-night,  and  they  only  come  because 
they  think  it's  spicy  to  get  so  close  to  real  vice  without 
actually  touching  it.  For  my  part  I'm  sick  of  the  whole 
Bohemian  game,  and  I'd  like  to  dine  at  The  St.  Francis  or 
The  Palace  every  night."  She  turned  to  Gwynne,  her 
eyes  flashing  dramatically;  she  was  tired  of  being  chorus  to 
her  popular  husband's  leading  roles,  and  was  determined 
to  hold  the  centre  of  the  stage  for  Gwynne's  edification  at 
least.  "They  pretend  to  come  here  because  the  dinner 
is  so  good!"  she  exclaimed.  "Good  and  cheap!  But  it 
isn't  that  a  bit  with  the  swells — the  women,  that  is.  They 
just  love  the  idea  of  doing  something  almost  naughty,  once 
in  a  while  in  their  virtuous  lives — when  a  San  Francisco 
woman  is  proper  she'd  make  you  really  tired  with  her 
superior  airs  and  censorious  tongue;  but  there  isn't  much 
she  doesn't  know,  all  the  same,  and  she  just  revels  in 
venturing  this  far." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  the  bewildered  Englishman. 
"Are  we  dining  in  a  dive  ?" 

"Not  quite,  but  almost!"  cried  Stone,  refilling  his  glass 
from  the  large  bottle  in  ice.  "There  is  only  one  San 
Francisco!  We  have  about  six  of  these  French  restaurants 
— ever  taste  anything  like  these  frogs  in  Paris  ?  You 
scarcely  ever  see  anybody  in  them  at  this  hour  with  an  'all- 
night'  reputation.  There  are  plenty  of  other  resorts,  a 
good  many  of  them  under  the  sidewalks,  where  the  dinner 
is  almost  as  good  but  where  a  man  doesn't  take  his  wife. 
And  up-stairs — here  —  and  in  a  few  others — well,  if  a 

366 


^L  -^L  JL  JL  _JL  JL    °     R     s 

woman  is  seen  entering  by  the  side  door  she  is  done  for. 
But  then  she  isn't  usually  seen.  Lord!  if  these  walls 
could  speak!  The  divorce  -  mills  would  explode.  The 
waiters  all  invest  in  real  estate.  Policemen  send  their 
daughters  to  Europe,  and  the  boss  politicans  get  rich  so 
fast  they  spend  money  almost  like  a  gentleman.  In  the 
hotels  you  are  all  but  asked  for  your  marriage  license,  but 
in  what  is  euphemistically  known  as  the  French  restaurants 
— well,  high-toned  vice  comes  high,  but  the  town  is  fairly 
bursting  with  accommodations  for  every  purse.  No  town 
like  this!"  he  exclaimed,  gazing  into  his  lifted  glass  and 
with  the  accent  of  deep  feeling.  "No  town  on  God's 
footstool.  Nothing  like  it.\  Wouldn't  live  anywhere  else 
if  you  gave  me  the  planet.  Of  course  I've  reformed,  but 
then  it's  the  atmosphere — not  a  taint  of  American  Puri 
tanism — European  and  something  more — the  wild  flavor 
of  a  new  and  unique  civilization.  Precious  few  California 
men  that  go  to  New  York  to  live  but  are  too  glad  to  come 
back;  and  Eastern  men,  like  Trennahan,  who  have  had  a 
long  taste  of  it,  couldn't  be  paid  to  live  anywhere  else." 

"So  all  the  legends  of  San  Francisco  are  true?"  said 
Gwynne,  who  preferred  Stone  to  his  wife. 

"Couldn't  exaggerate  if  you  tried.  Wait  till  I  show  it  to 
you.  No  blazed  trail  nor  special  policeman  detailed  to 
protect  our  precious  skulls.  I  know  the  ropes  and  am 
not  afraid  to  go  anywhere." 

"  How  do  you  like  your  new  work  ?"  asked  Isabel,  hastily, 
not  knowing  what  he  might  say  next.  "I  should  fancy 
that  newspaper  life  would  suit  you." 

"Does!  Never  hit  a  job  I  liked  as  well.  Jolly  set  of 
fellows.  Up  all  night.  What  more  could  a  fellow  ask  ? 
No  more  aristocracy  of  art  for  me.  I'm  neither  a  Peters 

367 


A_      N       C     JL S_    TORS 

nor  a  Keith,  and  I  wish  I'd  found  it  out  ten  years  ago.  If 
a  man  can  make  a  good  living,  what  in — ah,  what  on  earth 
more  can  he  want  in  a  town  that  gives  him  the  best  things  in 
the  world  to  eat,  the  jolliest  all-night  life,  the  finest  fellows 
in  the  world,  the  prettiest  women  to  look  at,  a  climate  that 
puts  new  life  into  old  horses — life's  a  dead  easy  game  out 
here — when  you  don't  develop  too  much  ambition.  Am 
bition  ?  Nothing  in  that.  Fellows  are  ingrates  and  idiots 
that  go  off  to  a  cold-blooded  place  like  New  York,  with  a 
beastly  climate,  the  moment  they  have  made  a  little  mark 
here.  No  philosophy  in  ambition.  Only  one  life.  Why 
not  enjoy  it — when  your  creditors  will  let  you  ?  And  the 
money  always  comes  somehow — comes  easy,  goes  easy, 
and  if  we  can't  all  be  great,  we  can  be  happier  here  than 
anywhere  else  on  earth.  Here's  to  San  Francisco — ana 
perdition  to  him  that  calls  it  'Frisco!" 

"So  you  have  said  good-bye  to  ambition  ?"  asked  Isabel, 
curiously.  "I  used  to  think  you  had  a  good  deal." 

"So  I  had.  Once  I  was  younger  and  knew  less.  Per 
haps  if  I  had  ever  done  anything  cleverer  than  a  few  dash 
ing  skits  for  the  Bohemian  Club,  and  somebody  had  patted 
me  hard  enough  on  the  back,  I  might  have  made  an  ass 
of  myself  and  crossed  the  continent  in  the  wake  of  so  many 
that  have  never  been  heard  of  since." 

"I  don't  think  you  ever  gave  your  creativeness  a  real 
chance.  If  you  had  shut  yourself  up  in  the  country  for  a 
year — 

"I  should  have  stayed  a  week.  Scenery  on  a  drop 
curtain  is  all  I  want  of  nature.  No,  Isabel."  He  re 
lapsed  into  sadness  for  a  moment.  "I  have  travelled  the 
logical  road  and  simmered  down  into  my  place.  It's  just 
this:  San  Francisco  breeds  all  sorts.  A  few  are  born  with 

368 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

a  drop  of  iron  in  their  souls.  They  resist  the  climate,  and 
the  enchantment  of  the  easy  luxurious  semi-idle  life  you 
can  command  out  here  on  next  to  nothing,  and  clear  out, 
and  work  hard,  and  make  little  old  California  famous. 
Where  they  get  the  iron  from  God  knows.  It's  all  elec 
tricity  with  the  rest  of  us.  There  are  hundreds  of  my  sort. 
You've  seen  them  at  the  real  Bohemian  restaurants;  young 
men  mad  with  life  and  the  sense  of  their  own  powers;  all 
of  them  writing,  painting,  composing,  editing — mostly  talk 
ing.  Then  at  other  tables  the  old-young  men  who  have 
shrugged  their  shoulders  and  simmered  down  like  myself; 
lucky  if  they  haven't  taken  to  drink  or  drugs  to  drown  re 
grets.  Still  other  tables — the  young-old  men,  quite  happy, 
and  generally  drunk.  Business  men  and  some  professional 
are  the  only  ones  that  forge  steadily  ahead;  with  precious 
few  exceptions.  But  you  don't  see  them  often  in  the  cheap 
Bohemian  restaurants,  which  have  a  glamour  for  the  young, 
and  are  a  financial  necessity  for  the  failures.  Never  was 
such  a  high  percentage  of  brains  in  any  one  city.  But  they 
must  get  out.  And  if  they  don't  go  young  they  don't  go 
at  all.  San  Francisco  is  a  disease.  You  can't  shake  it 
off.  And  you  don't  want  to.  To  Hades  with  ambition 
anyhow,"  he  cried,  gayly.  "We  can  admire  one  another — 
and  we've  learned  to,  instead  of  knocking  the  life  out  of 
everybody  else  as  we  did  a  few  years  ago.  Now  we  present 
the  unique  spectacle  of  a  city  packed  to  the  brim  with 
cleverness  and  always  ready  for  more.  We  know  how 
to  appreciate.  Vive  la  bagatelle.  New  York  ?  Why, 
the  spirit  and  brains  would  be  drained  out  of  nine- 
tenths  of  us  trying  to  keep  a  roof  over  our  heads,  and  no 
body  knowing  we  were  there.  No,  sir.  No,  ma  Jam! 
The  men  in  this  town  realize  more  and  more  when  they 

369 


A       N      C      E       S       TORS 

are  well  off,  and  here  is  one  of  them/*  And  he  refilled  his 
glass. 

Isabel,  not  knowing  that  she  had  been  listening  to  the 
litany  of  wasted  lives,  turned  in  disgust  and  cast  about  for 
an  excuse  to  leave  before  Stone  ordered  another  bottle  of 
champagne.  She  encountered  a  gleam  of  amusement  in 
Gwynne's  eyes,  and  it  seemed  to  transfer  her  to  an  empty 
auditorium,  while  mankind  performed  its  little  tricks  on 
the  stage  for  her  sole  benefit.  It  was  a  subtle  tribute,  and 
she  blushed  under  it.  She  was  also  gratified  to  observe 
that  Paula  was  boring  him.  But  she  glanced  away,  lest 
he  should  think  she  had  forgiven  him.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  she  saw  a  young  man  that  had  sat  with  his  back 
to  them,  and  opposite  the  famous  Mrs.  Hofer,  suddenly 
push  back  his  chair,  rise  to  his  feet,  and  look  sharply  at 
Gwynne.  Then  he  came  rapidly  down  the  room,  and 
Gwynne  rose  and  met  him  as  if  lifted  to  his  feet  by  the 
hospitality  beaming  from  the  large  bright  shrewd  capable 
face  of  the  Californian. 

"This  is  Mr.  Gwynne!  Is  it  really  ?"  he  exclaimed,  tak 
ing  the  stranger's  hand  in  a  large  warm  grasp.  "I  am 
Nicolas  Hofer.  Your  mother  wrote  you  ?  We  have  only 
been  back  a  short  time — I  had  intended  running  up  to  see 
you.  I  knew  you  for  a  Britisher  the  minute  you  entered 
the  room,  but  the  word  was  only  just  passed  about  who 
you  were.  Do — please — waive  formality  and  lunch  with 
me  at  my  house  to-morrow.  Then  we'll  motor  about  a 
bit  and  I'll  show  you  something  of  the  city.  Glad  the 
fine  weather  holds  out.  No  denial.  I  expect  you."  And 
he  skilfully  took  himself  off,  before  Gwynne  should  feel 
obliged  to  introduce  him  to  his  party. 

"Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  for  California  man- 
370 


A       NCESTORS 

ners,  and  the  arrogance  of  the   rich  ?"  demanded  Paula, 
triumphantly. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Stone,  amiably.  "Man  was  in 
a  hurry.  Can't  you  see  his  wife  waiting  for  him  ?  Never 
knew  a  Californian  to  put  on  airs  in  my  life."  By  this 
time  his  optimism  was  complete.  "Only  women  imagine 
such  things.  There  are  as  many  poor  as  rich  in  San 
Francisco  society.  Only  some  of  us  are  too  poor,  and 
Bohemia  is  better  anyway.  Well,  let's  hit  the  pike.  This 
room  is  too  hot  for  my  head." 


XXI 


rPHE  Poodle  Dog,  a  high  new  ugly  building,  stood 
1  on  the  corner  of  Eddy  and  Mason  Streets  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  Tenderloin,  or  "all  night  district."  For  two 
or  three  blocks  on  every  side  there  was  a  blaze  of  light, 
electric  signs,  illuminated  windows,  sudden  flashes  from 
swinging  doors.  There  was  much  movement,  life,  laugh 
ter,  carriages  in  the  street  driving  from  restaurant  to 
theatre.  And  all  beyond,  east  and  west,  south  and  north, 
was  a  city  as  dark  and  quiet  as  the  grave.  The  hill  tops 
were  picked  out  with  a  few  lights,  but  one  could  barely 
see  them  from  this  region  that  never  slept.  Nor  could  one 
see  Chinatown  and  Barbary  coast,  nor  other  sections  more 
picturesque  than  creditable,  where  the  cheaper  gas  blazed 
late,  and  not  even  a  policeman  was  sure  of  his  morrow  if  he 
ventured  too  far.  But  here  was  the  sound  of  music  and 
decorous  laughter,  the  clang  of  street-cars  and  the  con 
stant  rattle  of  carriages:  the  restaurants  were  beginning  to 
empty;  there  would  be  an  hour  or  two  of  comparative 
quiet,  and  then  another  crowd  would  fill  the  streets,  the 
restaurants,  even  the  saloons;  a  crowd  that  rarely  saw 
daylight  mixing  amiably  with  respectable  but  undomestic 
citizens  that  could  afford  to  sleep  late. 

At  present  the  scene  was  brilliant.  "The  San 
Franciscan  loves  the  outside  life  as  much  as  the  Londoner," 
said  Isabel  to  Gwynne,  as  they  stood  a  moment  almost 

372 


ANCESTORS 

blinded  by  the  lower  signs.  "  In  many  ways  you  will  find 
them  not  unlike — especially  as  regards  fads.  Wait  until 
you  have  been  really  initiated  into  intellectual  Bohemia — 
the  clever  young  newspaper  men  and  budding  authors. 
I  already  hate  the  names  of  Ibsen,  Shaw,  Wilde,  Symons, 
Maeterlinck,  and  Gorky.  I  am  only  waiting  for  them  to 
discover  Max  Klinger  and  Manet — " 

"Klinger?"  asked  Stone.  "Where  have  I  heard  that 
name  ?" 

"He  is  the  great  unconscious  humorist  of  modern  art, 
also  a  great  etcher,"  said  Isabel,  dryly.  "Have  you  ever 
heard  of  the  Secessionists  ?" 

"Of  course,"  replied  Stone,  huffily.  "You  imagine 
that  because  you  have  been  to  Europe — " 

"Well,  have  you  ever  heard  of  the  Sc holies?" 

Gwynne  laughed  aloud.  "If  he  has  not,  I  should 
champion  the  octopus  proclivities  of  California." 

"They  are  the  very  best  draughtsmen  in  the  world — " 

But  Paula  had  no  intention  that  the  conversation  should 
be  general.  It  had  been  agreed  that  they  should  visit 
Chinatown,  and  she  took  Gwynne's  arm  and  led  him  up 
the  hill;  she  found  his  cool  impersonal  manner  almost  fas 
cinating  after  a  lifetime  in  a  nest  of  horned  egos.  They 
walked  up  through  the  semi-darkness  to  Clay  Street  and 
down  to  Portsmouth  Square,  passing  through  an  entirely 
disreputable  region,  but  quiet  at  this  hour.  As  they 
crossed  the  Old  Plaza — now  Portsmouth  Square — Isabel 
explained  that  it  had  been  the  nucleus  of  the  San  Francisco 
of  the  Fifties,  and  that  people  had  crowded  nightly  against 
the  great  plate-glass  windows  on  one  of  the  corners  to 
watch  the  gamblers  and  the  hillocks  of  gold  on  every 
table;  and  that  no  doubt  their  common  ancestor,  who  was 

373 


ANCESTORS 

a  convivial  adventurous  soul,  had  brawled  here  many 
a  night.  Mrs.  Paula,  who  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  the 
history  of  either  California  or  San  Francisco,  hastened  her 
steps,  and  in  consequence  excited  the  always  smouldering 
jealousy  of  her  husband.  Stone  had  an  exaggerated  idea 
of  her  beauty  and  youth,  and  felt  his  own  power  waning, 
moreover  had  all  the  average  American's  Oriental  in 
stinct  for  exclusive  possession.  Consequently,  as  they 
entered  the  flaming  bit  of  Hong-Kong  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  square,  Gwynne,  infinitely  to  his  satisfaction, 
found  that  there  had  been  a  deft  exchange  of  partners. 

He  had  been  in  China,  and  the  sudden  entrance  into  an 
illusion  more  complete  than  even  the  stage  could  achieve 
almost  took  his  breath  away.  There  were  the  same 
crowds  of  stolid  faces  and  dark-blue  blouses,  relieved  here 
and  there  with  the  rich  garments  of  the  merchants  and 
the  women;  the  hundreds  of  tiny  high  balconies;  the 
gorgeous  windows  filled  with  embroideries  and  porcelain, 
Satsuma  and  bronzes.  He  was  glad  to  stroll  with  Isabel 
through  a  scene  so  like  a  picture-book,  and  to  exclaim 
with  her  over  the  novel  sensation  of  passing  from  the 
quintessence  of  the  Western  world  into  a  bit  of  ancient 
civilization.  She  realized  the  psychology  of  every  violent 
contrast  as  no  companion  he  had  ever  known,  and  when 
/she  told  him  of  the  adjacent  Spanish  Town,  Little  Italy, 
\Nigger  Town,  Sailor  Town,  where  representatives  of  the 
scum  of  every  clime  were  no  doubt  qualifying  for  purgatory 
at  the  moment,\he  experienced  a  lively  regret  that  there 
were  places  he  must  explore  without  her  comment. 

It  was  a  gala  night  in  Chinatown.  Even  the  pro 
vision  shops  were  festooned  with  sausages  ornamented 
with  bits  of  colored  paper,  and  decorated  paper  or  silken 

374 


A     JV^_(7       E       S      T       O       R       S 

lanterns  hung  before  every  house.  Painted  women  with 
stolid  faces,  often  deeply  imprinted  with  misery,  rolled 
along,  and  there  were  many  pretty  children  in  the  street, 
painted  too,  and  dressed  in  the  gayest  and  richest  of 
garments.  On  the  balconies  of  the  upper  and  greater 
restaurants  were  valuable  jars  and  vases  full  of  plants  and 
flowers.  They  ascended  to  the  finest  of  these  restaurants 
and  found  a  merchant's  party  eating  at  round  tables  from 
dolls'  plates.  In  a  room  opening  upon  a  veranda,  their 
creatures  chanted  what  sounded  to  Occidental  ears  like 
the  dirge  of  the  lost  souls  of  all  the  Flowery  Empire,  and 
the  expression  of  the  relaxed  haunted  faces  confirmed 
the  impression.  In  large  alcoves  well-dressed  Chinamen 
reclined  on  tables  of  marble  and  teakwood,  filling  and  re 
filling  the  opium  pipe  with  an  infinity  of  patience  that  if 
otherwise  applied  might  have  led  to  greatness  instead  of 
dreams. 

"These  men  are  just  on  exhibition,"  said  Stone,  con 
temptuously.  "Wait  till  I  show  you  the  real  thing  down 
in  the  slime.  Lots  of  tall  stories  about  Chinatown,  but 
the  reality  is  bad  enough." 

They  took  a  Jackson  Street  car  and  rode  up  through 
humbler  Chinatown,  then  through  quarters  of  varying 
respectability  until  they  reached  the  sacred  precinct  of  Nob 
Hill.  Here  there  was  an  aristocratic  calm,  but  much  light, 
and  faint  strains  of  music.  The  season  was  in  full  swing, 
and  society  was  either  dining,  or  dressing  for  the  dance. 

As  they  climbed  the  hill-stair  Stone  artfully  trimmed 
the  ragged  edges  of  his  wife's  discontent.  Subservient  as 
she  was  to  him,  there  were  times  when  her  temper  flew 
straight  and  sharp  like  a  blade  too  long  hooped,  and  he 
had  his  reasons  for  conciliating  her. 

375 


ANCESTORS 

Said  Gwynne  in  a  low  tone  as  they  felt  their  way  up  the 
dark  and  precarious  flight:  "Shall  you  think  me  rude  if  I 
accept  Hofer's  invitation  for  to-morrow  ?  And  Stone 
wants  me  to  do  the  town  a  bit  to-night.  I  am  most  curious 
— but  I  am  your  guest — and  I  can  come  down  another 


time — 

(4 


I  feel  almost  cross  with  you.  This  house  is  your 
hotel.  If  you  ever  go  to  another — whether  I  am  in  town 
or  not — there  will  be  trouble." 

So  it  was  that  as  they  reached  the  steps  leading  up  to 
the  door  of  the  house,  Stone  dropped  his  wife's  arm, 
which  had  lain  somewhat  rigidly  in  his,  and  catching 
Gwynne  firmly  by  the  elbow,  beat  a  rapid  retreat. 

"Good-night,  darling!"  he  cried.  "We're  off  to  do  the 
town."  Throwing  up  first  one  leg  then  the  other  in  black 
silhouette  against  the  stars,  he  sang:  "And  we  won't  be 
home  till  morning,  till  morning — " 

The  voice  drifted  up  from  the  corner  of  Taylor  and 
Broadway,  where  the  two  men  waited  for  a  car.  "Till 
daylight  doth  appear." 

Mrs.  Paula  was  gasping.  "Well,  I  never — never — " 
she  exclaimed,  as  Isabel  hastily  marshalled  her  up  the 
stair  and  into  the  house.  "I  hope  they'll  be  garroted! 
That's  all!  But  it's  just  like  the  selfish  beasts  of 
men—" 

"What  difference  does  it  make  ?  Didn't  Lyster  agree 
to  be  host  ?  It  would  be  too  dismal  for  Gwynne  to  roam 
through  the  purlieus  with  a  policeman — and  he  cannot 
come  down  often.  It's  bedtime,  anyhow." 

"Bedtime?"  cried  Mrs.  Paula.  "Why,  it's  only  ten 
o'clock.  But  I  forgot  that  you  go  to  bed  and  get  up  with 
chickens." 

376 


A       N       C       E       S       T       0       R       S 

"I  should  think  you  would  be  grateful  to  go  to  bed 
early,  once  in  a  while." 

"Oh,  I  often  retire  early  enough,  if  it  comes  to  that. 
It's  listening  half  the  night — all,  is  more  like  it — for  the 
last  car,  and  then  for  a  hack  galloping  from  side  to  side 
up  that  hill,  as  if  the  driver  and  the  very  horses  were  drunk 
themselves.  I  tell  you  it's  a  life!" 

"And  don't  you  get  used  to  it?"  asked  Isabel  with 
curiosity.  "You've  been  married  thirteen  years,  and  I 
suppose  Lyster  has  always  been  what  he  calls  an  all- 
nighter." 

"There  are  some  things  a  wife  never  gets  used  to,"  re 
plied  Paula  with  injured  dignity,  as  she  held  out  a  doubt 
ing  hand  for  the  candle  Isabel  had  lighted.  "Haven't 
you  gas  or  electricity  ?" 

"There  is  gas,  but  why  take  the  trouble  to  light  it? 
And  the  candle  recalls  so  many  delightful  evenings  in 
England.  I  know  no  prettier  picture  than  a  procession 
of  long-trained  women,  with  bare  shoulders,  and  jewels 
in  their  hair,  each  carrying  a  candle  up  a  long  stair  beside 
the  central  hall." 

"Ah!  I  have  no  such  charming  reminiscences  of  the 
English  aristocracy,  and  I  am  only  afraid  of  spilling 
candle  grease  on  my  one  decent  dress." 


XXII 

AT  four  o'clock  Isabel  was  awakened  by  suspicious 
sounds  at  the  key-hole  of  the  front  door.  She  reached 
out  for  her  pistol,  but  withdrew  her  hand  as  she  heard  the 
careless  laugh  of  her  brother-in-law.  A  few  moments 
later  the  two  explorers,  after  an  instant's  hesitation  at  the 
head  of  the  stair — which  they  had  climbed  like  cats — 
walked  past  her  door  with  a  brisk  swaggering  preternat- 
urally  steady  gait  that  invoked  the  memory  of  former 
occupants  of  the  mansion.  Then  Gwynne's  door  opened 
and  shut  as  if  by  sleight  of  hand.  Stone's  was  at  the  end 
of  the  hall.  Isabel  inferred  that  he  went  through  it,  and 
a  sound  between  a  hiss  and  a  smothered  roar  shot  down 
the  hall  as  he  would  seem  to  pick  up  the  door  and  bang  it 
into  place. 

Mr.  Hofer  had  mentioned  his  luncheon  hour  as  half- 
past  one.  Isabel  had  Gwynne  called  an  hour  before. 
She  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  as  he  emerged.  He 
was  as  well  groomed  as  usual,  but  he  was  unmistak 
ably  pale  beneath  his  new  coat  of  tan.  She  laughed 
wickedly. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  said,  imperturbably,  "I  was  drunk.  If 
I  had  not  been  I  never  could  have  got  through  it,  not  being 
a  seasoned  San  Franciscan.  I  thought  I  knew  vice.  I 
have  seen  a  good  many  variations,  and  in  places  where 
protection  was  necessary.  But  I  had  not  guessed  at  the 

378 


A       N      C       E 5_     TORS 

combination  of  ancient  civilization  and  the  crudities  of\  . 
the  mining-camp  in  the  heart  of  a  modern  city .J)  Stone  is 
not  a  tank,  but  a  camel.  I  befuddled  myself  successfully 
in  those  dives  under  the  pavements — and  we  had  by  no 
means  begun  there:  I  should  say  we  had  patronized  at 
least  half  the  saloons  in  San  Francisco  before  we  started 
for  the  underworld.  As  we  finally  supported  each  other 
up  the  hill — we  hadn'pthe  price  of  a  cab  left  between  us — 
it  seemed  to  me  th^t  I  was  ascending  from  a  jungle  of 
antediluvian  men  and  women  and  beasts  for  ever  and  ever  > 
on  the  rampage.  San  Francisco  is  the  most  wonderful 
city  in  the  world  inasmuch  as  she  not  only  exists  but  \^/ 
thrives  on  the  top  of  such  outrageous  rottenness^  And  no 
wonder  that  the  men  like  Hofer  are  desperate.  We  were 
escorted  by  a  policeman  after  all,  and  he  seemed  to  enjoy 
himself.  The  flash  of  knives  —  I  saw  two  men  stuck — 
made  as  little  impression  upon  him  as  the  awful  abandon 
ment  of — well,  of  the  females.  Good  God! — Well,  I  hope 
another  variety  is  in  store  to-day.  Hofer,  at  least,  does 
not  appear  to  be  dissipated.'* 

"Oh  no,  it  is  the  fashion  in  that  set  to  be  domestic  and 
good  citizens.  All  you'll  hear  of  the  underworld  to-day 
will  be  its  relation  to  politics.  They  have  been  making 
a  desperate  fight  to  defeat  the  present  mayor's  reelection 
and  have  been  overwhelmingly  defeated.  The  mayor  is 
popularly  supposed  to  be  a  criminal  at  large,  and  the 
party  that  supports  him  call  themselves  socialists,  and 
are  labor  unions  more  greedy  and  tyrannical  than  any 
Trust  in  the  country.  Nice  town.  But  we  are  optimists. 
No  doubt  Mr.  Hofer  and  his  party  are  already  planning 
for  the  next  campaign.  If  I  were  a  man,  I'd  go  back  to 
the  tactics  of  the  Fifties  and  lynch.  The  city  had  good 
24  379 


ANCESTORS 

government  for  twenty  years  after  the  operations  of  that 
Vigilance  Committee.  You  might  suggest  it." 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  am  in  a  suggesting  mood.  Shall 
you  be  here  to  dinner  ?" 

"Probably.  But  you  are  to  accept  whatever  offers. 
No  doubt  Mr.  Hofer  will  motor  you  out  to  the  Country 
Club  or  down  to  Burlingame,  where  he  has  a  house." 

Gwynne  nodded  gratefully  and  left  her.  As  he  reached 
the  top  of  the  steps  leading  down  the  hill,  Isabel  saw  him 
pause  and  speak  to  a  very  tall  very  smart  young  woman, 
whom  she  recognized  in  a  moment  as  Mrs.  Hofer.  Then 
the  young  matron  advanced  along  the  board  walk  with 
a  sort  of  trembling  stride.  It  was  evident  from  her  charm 
ing  blushing  face  that  she  was  as  embarrassed  as  any  one 
so  young  and  buoyant,  so  successful  and  so  Irish,  could  be. 
Isabel  ran  down  the  steps  to  meet  her. 

"Oh!"  cried  Mrs.  Hofer,  in  a  light,  high,  cultivated,  but 
nasal  voice,  with  a  slightly  English  accent.  "You  are 
sweet!  I  had  intended  to  call  in  state  the  first  time  I 
could  think  of  a  decent  excuse,  for  I  have  simply  been  mad 
— mad — to  know  you.  But  last  night  I  told  Mr.  Hofer 
that  my  slender  stock  of  patience  had  gone — flown — 
evaporated.  I  could  hardly  wait  till  this  afternoon!  Do 
you  think  I'm  unconventional  ?  I'm  not  really,  except 
when  I'm  abroad — never  here.  Nobody  is  so  conven 
tional  as  the  San  Franciscan  at  home." 

Isabel  was  smiling  and  trying  to  guide  her  up  the  steps. 
"I  am  more  glad  than  I  can  say  to  know  you,  at  last,"  she 
said.  "Do  come  into  my  house." 

"Let  me  rest  a  bit.  The  breath  is  out  of  me  with  the 
climb  and  the  fright.  Yes,  fright,  and  it  takes  a  good 
deal  to  phaze  me.  But  you're  the  sensation  of  the  town, 

380 


A       NCESTORS 

my  dear.  There  have  been  all  sorts  of  plans  to  get  hold 
of  you.  People  are  simply  mad — mad!  I  was  just  bound 
I'd  be  the  first.  Not  petty  social  ambition,  not  a  bit  of  it. 
I  wanted  to  know  you.  And  I  stayed  in  a  country-house 
in  England  just  after  you,  last  year.  To  think  that  you 
could  have  married  Lord  Hexam.  Oh,  what  a  jewel  of  a 
house!  I  went  simply  mad  over  those  white  rooms  in 
London." 

Isabel  had  firmly  piloted  her  up  the  steps  and  into  the 
house,  and  Mrs.  Hofer  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  like  a 
bird  on  a  bough,  her  merry  shrewd  sweet  eyes  devouring 
Isabel's  face. 

"Oh,  but  I've  wanted  to  know  you!  You  don't  know 
what  this  means  to  me!" 

"But  why?"  asked  Isabel,  much  amused.  "I  am 
nobody." 

"Oh,  just  aren't  you,  though  ?  Why,  you're  almost  the 
last  of  the  old  San  Francisco  Knickerbockers,  so  to  speak. 
That  is,  the  last  that  has  inherited  any  of  the  beauty  one 
is  always  hearing  about  from  the  old  beaux.  And  most 
of  them  have  gone  under  anyhow — in  the  cheerful  Cali 
fornia  fashion:  three  generations  from  shirt  sleeves  to 
shirt  sleeves.  Of  course  there  are  some  left,  but  the  most 
interesting  thing  about  them  is  that  they  have  been  forced 
to  open  their  houses  to  the  likes  of  us — or  sit  down  and 
talk  to  empty  chairs.  But  the  old  Spanish  blood  is  what 
interests  us  most.  It  was  quite  forgotten — all  that  old 
life — for  about  two  generations;  but  now  it's  the  fashion  to 
remember  it,  and  everything  else  early  Californian.  To 
think  that  you  are  a  niece,  so  to  speak,  of  the  first  nun  in 
California,  who  had  that  romantic  love  affair  with  that 
Russian — I  never  could  pronounce  his  name.  That's 

38' 


A       N      C       E       S       T    _O F^J$ 

not  what  interests  me  most,  though.  It's  you.  To  think 
what  you've  done!  Those  chickens!  My  man  in  the 
market  has  orders  to  send  me  Old  Inn  chickens  and  eggs, 
on  penalty  of  losing  my  custom.  All  the  blasee  girls — 
the  San  Francisco  girls  do  get  so  blasee,  poor  things — are 
threatening  to  go  in  for  chickens.  It  would  be  a  lot  better 
for  them  than  bridge.  It  is  quite  shocking  the  way  they 
do  gamble.  Talk  about  early  times!" 

"Fancy  chickens  becoming  a  fad!"  Mrs.  Hofer  had 
paused  for  breath.  "Poor  chickens!  Tell  your  friends 
that  they  will  have  to  get  up  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  and 
at  six  o'clock  in  winter,  and  five  in  summer,  and  spend 
a  large  part  of  their  time  in  overalls  and  rubber  boots. 
I  fancy  that  will  cure  them." 

"It  would!  No  more  flirtations!  No  more  Paris  gowns! 
No  more  paint!  I'll  tell  them.  But  they  admire  you,  all 
the  same.  And  we  are  all  dying  to  see  you  en  grande  tenue. 
I  am  giving  a  ball  the  night  before  Christmas.  Say  you 
will  come — right  here,  on  the  spot." 

"I  shall  love  to  come.  I  had  intended  to  reopen  this 
house  as  soon  as  I  could  afford  it,  and  had  hardly  expected 
to  pick  up  my  mother's  old  threads  until  then.  But  a 
ball!  I  haven't  danced  for  a  year." 

"It  is  simply  fine  to  hear  you  say  things  just  like  other 
girls,  when  you  look  the  concentrated  essence  of  all  our 
bewigged  and  bepowdered  ancestors.  To  think  that 
you've  got  that  old  colonial  blood  in  you  too,  and  are  re 
lated  to  a  lot  of  those  old  duffers  one  sees  in  the  public 
parks.  The  next  time  I  go  East  I'll  look  at  them  with 
more  interest." 

Then  she  sat  still  farther  forward,  and  her  bright  face 
took  on  an  expression  of  coaxing  eagerness. 

382 


ANCESTORS 

"If  it  hadn't  been  a  man's  luncheon  to-day  I  should 
have  asked  you  to  join  us.  But  won't  you  come  down  to 
The  St.  Francis  with  me  ?  My  automobile  is  at  the  foot 
of  the  bluff.  We  can  motor  afterward  through  the  park  a 
bit,  and  out  on  the  boulevard.  It  is  a  simply  heavenly 
day." 

Isabel  hesitated,  and  lifted  an  ear  to  the  floor  above. 
There  was  not  a  sound,  nor  was  it  likely  that  Lyster  would 
make  his  appearance  before  dinner.  Paula  had  an 
nounced  her  intention  of  visiting  her  children  in  the  course 
of  the  afternoon;  she  would  hardly  awaken  for  luncheon. 
While  she  hesitated  Mrs.  Hofer  began  to  coax  in  her 
eager  commanding  fashion. 

"Oh,  do  come!  Please  come!  I'm  mad,  mad  to  have 
you  all  to  myself  for  one  day.  Chloroform  them — " 

"You  wouldn't  lunch  with  me?" 

"I  will  entertain  you  first.     Please,  please,  come!" 

"Very  well,"  said  Isabel,  laughing.  "I  doubt  if  they 
ever  know  the  difference.  I  won't  be  a  minute  getting 
ready." 

She  ran  up-stairs,  and  during  the  half-hour  of  her  toilette 
Mrs.  Hofer  examined  everything  in  the  down-stairs  rooms 
and  nodded  an  emphatic  approval. 


XXIII 

IT  was  nearly  midnight.  Isabel,  her  head  still  buzzing 
after  a  kaleidoscopic  day,  which  included  much  motor 
ing  and  many  words,  felt  no  inclination  for  bed,  more 
over  was  not  only  curious  to  hear  Gwynne's  impres 
sions,  but  felt  a  pleasant  sense  of  anticipation  in  talking 
the  day  over  with  him.  He  had  telephoned  that  he 
was  going  down  to  Burlingame  for  dinner,  but  should 
manage  to  return  to  the  house  in  the  neighborhood  of 
midnight.  She  wondered  if  he  had  met  as  many  people 
and  received  as  many  bewildering  impressions  as  she 
had  done. 

If  she  had  cherished  a  lingering  delusion  that  aught  re 
mained  of  the  old  proud  reserved  character  of  the  society 
of  her  mother's  time,  it  had  vanished  before  the  chatter  of 
her  hostess  and  the  experiences  of  the  day.  They  had 
not  lunched  at  The  St.  Francis,  after  all.  As  they  reached 
the  entrance  Mrs.  Hofer  capriciously  changed  her  mind, 
and  decided  to  make  a  dramatic  descent  with  Isabel  upon 
the  house  of  a  friend  whom  she  knew  to  be  entertaining 
informally,  and  where  she  was  always  sure  of  a  welcome. 
The  house  was  out  at  The  Mission,  a  generic  term  in  these 
days  for  the  valley  under  the  shadow  of  Twin  Peaks,  so 
sparsely  populated  by  the  padres.  There  were  still  a  few 
large  wooden  houses,  surrounded  by  grounds,  that  looked 
like  country  seats  in  the  midst  of  that  wilderness  of  cheap 

384 


ANCESTORS 

and  hideous  streets;  built  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  years 
before,  when  "The  Mission"  was  a  suburb,  and  for  old 
affection's  sake  still  inhabited  in  spite  of  a  thousand  draw 
backs.  Isabel  approached  this  place  in  a  fever  of  an 
ticipation,  for  it  was  none  other  than  the  old  estate  of  Juan 
Moraga,  and  through  a  grille  in  its  vanished  adobe  wall 
Concha  Argiiello  had  held  tryst  with  her  Russian  lover, 
Rezanov. 

Into  this  sheltered  valley  the  trade  winds  and  the  fog 
came  so  seldom  that,  although  it  was  a  November  day, 
the  host  had  no  hesitation  in  entertaining  his  guests  on  the 
lawn,  with  rugs  under  foot  and  a  canopy  to  protect  the 
complexions  of  the  women.  Here,  Isabel  found  members 
of  nearly  every  set  the  city  had  ever  possessed:  Mrs. 
Trennahan,  like  herself  of  the  old  Spanish  stock,  and  her 
New  York  husband;  Anne  Montgomery  and  two  or  three 
others  of  the  second  regime;  Catalina  Shore,  with  her 
beautiful  half  Indian  face  and  English  husband;  these  few 
with  a  repose  of  manner  that  looked  old-fashioned  against 
the  lightly  poised  figures  and  incessant  chatter  of  the  young 
er  girls.  And  there  was  an  even  greater  variety  of  garb. 
Several  were  dressed  for  the  season  in  velvet  and  furs: 
one  wore  an  organdie  blouse  and  hat;  another  had  hastily 
donned  a  checked  travelling  suit;  there  was  no  doubt  that 
Miss  Montgomery  had  bought  her  simple  brown  frock  al 
ready  made,  and  perhaps  at  a  sale;  her  neighbor  wore  a 
black  lace  dress  with  a  fur  boa.  The  majority  were  ex 
cessively  smart,  whatever  their  vagaries,  and  Mrs.  Hofer, 
most  of  all,  in  several  shades  of  gray;  not  only  becoming  to 
her  dark  hair  and  bright  color,  but  suggesting  the  natural 
plumage  of  a  bird;  she  was  one  of  those  women  that  look 
so  well  in  whatever  they  wear  that  it  is  difficult  to  imagine 

385 


ANCESTORS 

them  in  anything  else.  Isabel,  perhaps,  although  the 
sharp  eye  of  a  woman  would  have  detected  the  absence 
of  the  hand  of  a  maid  in  her  toilette,  more  nearly  solved 
the  problem  of  a  spring  day  in  mid-winter,  with  her 
frock  of  white  serge  and  large  black  hat  covered  with 
feathers. 

She  sat  between  the  "Reform  Mayor,"  whose  guest 
L,he  was,  and  the  "Militant  Editor,"  neither  in  the  high 
est  spirits  after  their  recent  and  unexpected  defeat;  and 
heard  much  of  that  intimate  political  talk  for  which  she 
had  longed,  although  her  mind  wandered  occasionally  to 
that  romantic  past  of  caballero  and  dona  not  yet  a  century 
old,  very  difficult  to  conjure  in  this  swarming  heterogene 
ous  valley. 

After  luncheon  Mrs.  Hofer  had  invited  Miss  Montgom 
ery  into  the  automobile,  and  taken  her  and  Isabel  for 
a  long  ride,  chattering  of  everything  under  the  sun,  but 
with  breathing  spells  that  enabled  Isabel  to  exchange  a 
few  remarks  with  her  old  friend;  and  between  remorse  for 
her  own  neglect  and  pity  for  that  desolated  life,  she  was 
almost  effusive,  and  begged  Miss  Montgomery  to  visit  her 
in  the  valley  where  Anne's  father  too  had  owned  a  ranch 
in  palmier  days.  She  offered  to  furnish  a  room  imme 
diately,  and  Miss  Montgomery  smilingly  promised  to  ob 
tain  surcease  from  dinner-parties,  where  her  portion  was 
to  enter  by  the  back  door — in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  with 
the  ancestral  silver — and  take  the  rest  she  needed.  She 
made  a  good  living,  she  assured  Isabel,  but  was  educat 
ing  a  young  relative  for  the  navy,  and  lived  in  a  flat 
that  was  largely  kitchen.  All  her  fragile  wild-rose  beauty 
was  gone  long  since,  but  she  still  remembered  how  to 
put  on  her  clothes,  and  her  position  was  unaffected  in 

386 


A       N      C       E       S      T       O       R 

that  devil-may-^are  city;  she  went  into  society  when  she 
chose. 

Mrs.  Hofer,  on  their  return  from  the  environs,  left  them 
for  a  few  moments  in  front  of  a  home  on  Van  Ness  Avenue 
where  a  friend  lay  ill,  and  Isabel  made  an  enthusiastic 
allusion  to  the  gay  out-door  appearance  of  the  city.  The 
broad  avenue  was  crowded  with  men,  women,  and  chil 
dren,  promenading  in  the  sunshine.  Every  street-car 
was  filled  with  people  on  their  way  to  or  from  the  Park, 
Presidio,  or  Cliff  House.  They  had  passed  hundreds 
of  automobiles  and  fine  turnouts  of  every  description, 
and  out  at  the  three  great  resorts  thousands  of  pleasure- 
seekers. 

Miss  Montgomery  set  her  well-cut  mouth  in  a  pale  line. 
"I  get  somewhat  weary  of  all  this  pagan  delight  in  mere 
externals,"  she  remarked.  "It  is  all  so  superficial  and 
deceptive,  although  sincere  enough  in  its  ebullitions.  I 
can  tell  you,  my  dear  idealist — you  have  not  changed  a 
particle,  by  the  way — that  there  is  another  side  you  have 
never  seen.  I  doubt  if  you  ever  would  see  it,  even  if  you 
came  to  live  in  the  town."  The  automobile  stood  on  a 
corner.  Miss  Montgomery  indicated  the  rise  and  fall  of 
the  hillside,  east  and  west  of  the  avenue.  "Look  at  all 
those  shabby-genteel  rows  of  houses,  each  exactly  like 
the  next,  each  with  its  awful  bow  window,  and  all  needing 
a  new  coat  of  paint.  So  are  the  lives  inside.  And  there 
are  miles  of  them.  There  are  just  four  sorts  of  people  in 
this  town — ignoring  its  underworld — that  get  any  real  en 
joyment  out  of  life :  those  that  are  wealthy  enough  to  com 
mand  constant  variety;  the  careless  clever  Bohemians 
with  their  wits  always  on  the  alert  and  plenty  of  congenial 
work;  the  club  women;  the  laboring  class,  that  get  the 

38? 


A       N      C       E       S T      0 R       S 

highest  wages  on  earth  and  are  as  happy  as  beasts  of  the 
field  on  a  bright  warm  winter's  day  like  this.  But  oh, 
the  thousands  and  thousands  of  mere  mortals  that  are 
mired  in  their  ruts  and  no  longer  even  plan  to  climb  out! 
There  is  no  more  chance  for  those  people — who  are  in 
some  little  business,  or  are  clerks,  or  small  professional 
men,  or  fractions  in  the  great  corporations — to  mention 
but  a  few  examples — no  more  chance  for  them  than  in  any 
of  the  older  cities;  for  San  Francisco  has  gone  at  such  a 
pace  that  she  has  as  many  ruts  as  if  centuries  had  plowed 
her,  and  those  in  the  ruts  might  as  well  be  on  Lone  Moun 
tain.  They — the  women  particularly — have  the  tedium 
vitae  in  an  acuter  form  than  you  have  seen  anywhere  in 
Europe,  for  over  there  the  centuries  have  mellowed  and 
enriched  life;  there  is  something  besides  this  eternal  climate 
which  can  never  take  the  place  of  art.  Of  course  there 
was  a  day  when  every  man  had  an  equal  chance,  but  that 
day  has  passed  long  since.  And  then  in  Europe,"  she 
went  on,  the  minor  note  in  her  voice  becoming  more 
plaintive,  although  she  was  too  well  bred  to  whine,  "you 
are  always  near  some  other  place.  You  can  save  your 
money  for  a  few  mbnths  and  command  a  change  of  scene. 
Here  you  have  to  travel  three  thousand  miles  to  find  a 
change  of  accent.  I  often  have  the  delusion  that  California 
is  on  Mars.  And  the  climate!  Day  after  day,  when  I 
walk  down  that  shabby  hill  with  menus  revolving  in  my 
head,  or  take  the  boat  across  that  sparkling  bay — I  have 
customers  all  about — I  long  for  the  extremes  of  seasons 
they  have  in  the  East — fogs  and  four  months  of  intermittent 
rain  are  only  an  irritant  to  one's  natural  love  of  variety. 
I  long  for  the  excitement  of  wading  through  snow  drifts. 
I  wish  we  would  have  a  war.  I  should  love  to  hear  the 


A      N      C       E       S      T      0       R       S 

shells  hissing  overhead,  to  see  great  buildings  collapse, 
people  rushing  about  in  a  mad  state  of  excitement — any- 
thing,  anything,  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  this  isolated 
bit  of  semi-civilization — where,  I  can  tell  you,  more  women 
meditate  suicide  from  pure  ennui  than  in  any  city  on 
earth!" 

Isabel  was  appalled  by  this  outburst.  The  brilliant  day 
seemed  faded,  the  bright  faces  were  grinning  masks.  Then 
she  experienced  a  powerful  rush  of  loyalty  towards  this 
stranded  member  of  her  own  class,  and  before  she  realized 
what  she  was  saying,  she  had  offered  to  send  her  to  Europe 
to  finish  the  musical  education  begun  in  her  promising 
youth. 

"Don't  be  angry,"  she  stammered,  knowing  the  intense 
pride  of  the  impoverished  American.  "Why  not?  We 
are  really  related.  I  am  quite  alone.  My  little  fortune 
has  almost  doubled.  I  make  much  more  than  I  can  spend. 
It  would  be  quite  shocking  if  I  did  not  do  something  for 
some  one — there  is  Paula  of  course,  but  it  is  against  my 
principle  to  do  too  much  for  any  woman  with  a  husband. 
Do — please — " 

Miss  Montgomery,  who  had  flushed  deeply  and  averted 
her  head,  turned  suddenly  with  a  smile  and  a  light  in  her 
eyes  that,  with  the  color  in  her  cheeks,  made  her  look 
young  for  a  moment. 

"Th  t  was  just  like  you!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  remember 
in  Rosewater,  when  you  were  a  little  thing,  you  used  to  give 
away  the  clothes  on  your  back,  and  your  toys  never  lasted 
a  week;  although  you  beat  the  children  and  pulled  them 
about  by  the  hair  when  they  didn't  play  to  suit  you.  I 
saw  you  on  the  street  just  after  your  return  from  Europe 
— you  looked  as  if  you  had  wrapped  yourself  up  in  the 

389 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

pride  of  your  nature — had  found  a  plane  apart  from  com 
mon  mortals.  For  that  reason  I  did  not  remind  you  of  my 
existence.  But  I  should  have  remembered  that  you  had 
had  trouble  and  care  enough  to  freeze  any  woman  of  your 
inheritances  into  a  sort  of  animated  Revolutionary  statue. 
But  you  are  just  the  same  old  Isabel.  It  makes  me  feel 
young  again." 

"And  you  will  go  ?"  asked  Isabel,  eagerly. 

Miss  Montgomery  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said, 
sadly.  "It  is  too  late.  I  am  thirty-five.  If  you  have 
made  no  place  for  yourself  by  that  time  in  America  you 
belong  by  a  sort  of  divine  decree  to  the  treadmill.  And 
the  limberness  has  gone  out  of  my  fingers  as  out  of  my 
mind.  Sometimes  I  deluge  my  pillow;  but  I  will  con 
fess  to  you  that  down  deep  there  is  a  consciousness  of 
bluntness,  and  it  makes  me  inconsistently  satisfied  to 
be  here  in  this  land  of  climate  and  plenty,  instead  of 
in  Boston  or  New  York,  where  both  climatic  and  social 
conditions  are  so  terribly  stern  for  the  poor.  After  all, 
the  word  'struggle/  is  a  mere  euphemism  out  here,  and 
I  am  still  asked  to  nearly  all  of  the  big  parties;  not 
one  of  the  older  set  has  dropped  me,  and  I  could  go 
out  constantly  if  I  chose.  But  I  have  neither  the  energy 
nor  the  money.  I  could  have  presents  of  ball  gowns, 
but  of  course  I  won't  accept  them."  She  laid  her  hand 
on  Isabel's.  "Don't  imagine  that  I  do  not  appreciate 
your  generosity.  I  shall  never  forget  it — nor  the  dear 
childish  awkward  spontaneity  of  its  expression.  But 
here  I  stay  and  rot." 

"  I  heard  this  same  lament  from  Lyster  the  other  night; 
only  he  was  more  cheerful  about  it — possibly  because  he 
has  other  surcease — " 

39° 


A       NCESTORS 

"Don't  waste  any  sympathy  on  us,"  said  Miss  Mont 
gomery,  contemptuously.  "There  never  was  such  a  sieve 
as  California — San  Francisco — for  separating  the  wheat 
from  the  chaff — for  determining  the  survival  of  the  fittest. 
If  I  had  been  worth  my  salt  I  should  have  conquered  every 
obstacle,  overcome  the  family  will,  when  I  was  young  and 
full  of  hope  and  vigor.  So  would  Lyster  Stone.  San 
Francisco  is  stronger  than  we  are.  That  is  the  truth  in  a 
nutshell.  Those  that  are  stronger  than  she  have  gone. 
The  rest  don't  matter.  And  as  so  many  of  those  that  are 
really  gifted  enjoy  themselves  with  only  an  occasional 
spasm  of  self-disgust,  they  are  not  greatly  to  be  pitied. 
By  and  by  they  will  outgrow  even  that,  and  congratulate 
themselves  that  they  were  not  of  those  that  fled  from  the 
good  things  of  life." 

Mrs.  Hofer  ran  down  the  steps  and  into  her  automobile. 
"I  simply — couldn't — get — away,"  she  cried  between  the 
agonized  thumpings  of  the  engine.  "But  perhaps  you 
were  glad  to  be  rid  of  me  a  bit.  Please  don't  say  so, 
though.  It  would  make  me  simply  miserable." 

As  the  car  glided  off,  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  seat 
facing  her  guests,  lightly,  and  with  the  same  backward 
sweep  of  her  body  as  when  walking.  She  always  seemed 
to  be  fairly  bursting  with  youthful  energy,  and  no  bird 
could  rival  her  buoyancy.  She  immediately  assumed  the 
burden  of  the  conversation. 

"Dear  Miss  Otis!  I  have  been  meaning  all  day  to  ask 
you  about  Lady  Victoria  Gwynne,  but  so  many  things 
have  put  it  out  of  my  head.  What  do  you  think  of  her  ? 
I  am  simply  mad  to  know.  I  never  met  any  one  who 
interested  half  so  much;  I  couldn't  make  her  out  the  least 
little  bit.  The  only  time  when  she  seemed  quite  alive 

391 


A      N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

was  when  she  spoke  of  her  Jack.  In  the  famous  Elton 
she  didn't  seem  to  take  any  interest  at  all.  I  fancy  they've 
fallen  out,  for  whenever  his  name  was  mentioned — and 
Mr.  Hofer  admires  him  immensely — she  always  became 
as  mute  as  a  mummy.  It  put  me  out  a  bit.  I'm  not  used 
to  that  sort  of  treatment.  When  I  want  to  talk  about  a 
subject,  I  am  in  the  habit  of  doing  so.  Lady  Victoria  is 
not  a  bit  simple  like  so  many  English  great  ladies.  Per 
haps  it's  the  Spanish  blood,  or  perhaps  it's  because  she's  so 
blasee.  They  do  tell  stories!  I  never  heard  any  received 
woman  accused  of  having  had  quite  so  many — well,  at 
least  in  this  town,  when  a  woman  is  openly  larky  she  soon 
finds  herself  on  the  north  side  of  the  fence.  There  was 
my  Lady  Victoria  hobnobbing  with  all  the  royalties  at 
Homburg.  But  what  interested  me  most  was  her  attitude 
to  Sir  Cadge  Vanneck — " 

"What?"  Isabel  sat  erect.  "Has  Sir  Cadge  Vanneck 
returned  from  Africa  ?  I  thought  something  besides  ill 
health  was  detaining  her.  Do  you  think  they  will  marry  ? 
I  don't  know  whether  Mr.  Gwynne  would  like  it  or  not. 
He  looks  forward  to  her  arrival — " 

"I  can  see  Lady  Victoria  on  a  California  ranch!  She 
would  yawn  her  head  off.  London  is  'the  world'  in 
quotation  marks.  She  couldn't,  that  seasoned  lady, 
stay  out  of  it  six  months.  But  about  Sir  Cadge — that  was 
the  final  mystery.  It  actually  kept  me  awake  one  night. 
You  know  the  story,  how  devoted  he  was  for  about  two 
years,  and  then  how  he  ran  away  when  her  husband  was 
killed,  for  fear  he  would  have  to  marry  her.  Nobody 
knew  exactly  how  she  felt  about  it,  for  one  thing  must  be 
said  for  the  people  of  those  effete  old  civilizations:  their 
breeding  carries  them  through  any  crisis  without  the  turn 

392 


ANCESTORS 

of  a  hair.  But  the  report  was  that  she  showed  an  inner 
convulsion  in  subtle  outer  vibrations,  or  people  imagined 
she  did,  probably  because  she'd  got  to  that  age  where  she 
couldn't  have  many  illusions  left.  Then,  suddenly,  this 
summer,  he  returns,  and  follows  her  to  Homburg.  He  is 
all  devotion.  She  is  an  iceberg.  And  she's  gone  off 
dreadfully.  I  saw  her  seven  years  ago  at  Covent  Garden, 
and  she  was  the  handsomest  thing  I  ever  looked  at.  She's 
handsome  yet,  but  her  muscles  are  getting  that  loose 
look  and  her  eyes  are  bottomless  pits  of  ennui.  Save  me 
from  being  a  fashionable  demimondaine.  Better  go  to 
the  deuce  and  die  in  a  garret.  Something  honest  in  that, 
anyhow — and  more  picturesque.  There  may  be  some 
thing  behind,  that  we  don't  know  anything  about,  but  in 
my  opinion  she  is  not  the  happiest  of  women;  and  with 
such  a  handsome  and  agreeable  man  as  Sir  Cadge  Vanneck 
at  her  feet,  she  is  just  an  ingrate.  We  are  not  here,  al 
ready  ?  I  wish  I  were  not  invited  this  evening,  I'd  simply 
make  you  come  home  to  dinner.  And  it  seems  so  rude  to 
leave  you  at  the  foot  of  this  bluff;  but  there  is  just  one 
thing  the  automobile  can't  do — " 

Isabel,  her  head  spinning  with  many  words,  had  been 
glad  to  express  her  pleasure  in  the  day's  entertainment 
and  run  up  the  steps  to  her  refuge  on  the  heights.  She 
had  found  that  Mr.  Stone  was  still  in  bed  and  likely  to 
remain  there,  and  a  haughty  note  from  Paula  announcing 
that  she  had  returned  to  her  children  and  should  remain 
where  she  was  wanted. 

She  was  vaguely  planning  to  "do  something"  for  Anne 
Montgomery,  and  congratulating  herself  that  she  could 
fly  at  will  from  people  that  talked  too  much,  when  she 
heard  Gwynne's  long  stride  on  the  plank  walk,  and 

393 


ANCESTORS 

called  gayly  to  him  out  of  the  darkness  "to  stand  and 
deliver." 

"I  hope  you  carry  a  pistol,"  she  added,  anxiously,  as  he 
ran  up  the  steps.  "I  scarcely  ever  pick  up  a  newspaper 
without  reading  of  a  hold-up,  and  there  were  four  on  this 
hill  last  week.  We  change,  out  here,  but  we  don't  seem 
to  improve  much." 


XXIV 

I  HAVE  had  what  is  called  a  full  day,"  said  Gwynne, 
as  he  sank  into  a  chair  beside  Isabel.  "Lunch  with 
half  a  dozen  of  the  cleverest  and  most  strenuous  men  I  ever 
met — and  not  at  Hofer's  house,  by  the  way,  but  out  at  the 
Cliff  House,  up  in  a  tower,  where  we  had  a  superb  view 
of  the  ocean  and  Golden  Gate;  then  motored  about  the 
city  for  three  hours,  then  down  to  Burlingame  for  dinner, 
then  back  to  supper  at  one  of  the  restaurants.  After 
over  a  year  of  social  suspension  I  hardly  knew  how  to  be 
have,  especially  to  all  the  pretty  women  I  met  at  the  Club 
House  at  Burlingame, — who  seemed  to  expect  me  to  pay 
them  compliments  and  flirt  desperately.  I  feel  worn  out, 
and  on  the  verge  of  sighing  for  my  lonely  ranch." 

"But  you  have  enjoyed  yourself,"  said  Isabel,  smiling. 
"It  has  done  you  a  lot  of  good.  You  must  grow  straight 
downward  to  your  roots.  Then,  when  you  shoot  up  again 
you  will  be  a  real  American." 

Gwynne  made  a  wry  face.  "Not  yet.  Mrs.  Hofer's 
father,  Mr.  Toole  (who  is  now  retired  and  spends  most 
of  his  time  in  about  the  most  luxurious  library  I  ever  saw 
— we  alighted  in  it  for  a  few  moments  before  swooping 
down  to  Burlingame)  quoted  Byron  to  me  and  is  well  up 
in  English  politics.  There  were  several  London  news 
papers  and  reviews  on  the  table.  Moreover,  at  the 
luncheon,  Elton  Gwynne  was  actually  discussed  for  a  few 
•»  395 


ANCESTORS 

moments.  All  of  which  gave  me  pangs  of  homesickness. 
But  although  they  are  all  sufficiently  versed  in  British 
politics,  their  interest  is  very  casual.  Even  national 
matters  don't  concern  them  particularly.  What  absorbs 
them  is  the  redemption  of  San  Francisco;  and  after  my 
experiences  last  night  I  can't  say  I  am  surprised.  The 
sort  of  municipal  government  that  permits  and  battens 
upon  an  unlimited  variety  of  open  vice  must  devour  the 
entire  city  in  time.  Mr.  Toole  informed  me,  in  the  holy 
calm  of  his  library,  that  reform  is  impossible;  and  certainly 
the  professional  grafters  seem  to  be  one  of  the  few  produc 
tions  of  this  State  whose  energy  is  not  demoralized  by  the 
climate.  But  that  must  make  the  fight  more  interesting. 
And  hardly  a  degree  less  menacing  is  this  gigantic  octa- 
pus  of  labor  unionism — of  inexcusable  socialism.  Well, 
we  shall  see!  It  makes  one  tingle." 

"And  do  you  never,  in  your  inmost,  contemplate  return 
ing  to  England  ?"  asked  Isabel,  curiously. 

Gwynne  swung  about  and  planted  his  elbows  on  the 
railing,  clasping  his  hands  about  his  head.  For  some 
moments  he  seemed  absorbed  in  the  mass  of  lights  at  the 
foot  of  the  black  hillside.  "I  don't  know,"  he  said,  finally. 
"It  is  possible  that  only  my  will  keeps  me  from  thinking 
about  it.  It  may  be  that,  having  made  up  my  mind  be 
fore  leaving  England,  I  accomplished  a  final  wrench  and 
adjustment.  I  abstain  from  too  much  self-analysis;  but 
it  is  certain  that  down  deep  I  often  feel  a  tug  at  familiar 
strings.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  myself,  for  after  all 
what  is  each  one  of  us  but  the  composite  of  the  race, 
always  at  war  with  a  spark  of  individuality.  Some  fine 
morning  I  may  wake  up,  order  my  trunk  to  be  packed,  and 
take  the  first  train  out  of  California." 

396 


ANCESTORS 

"Oh,  might  you?" 

"Well,  of  course,  I  should  stop  and  say  good-bye  to  you. 
That  is  if  I  did  not  fall  into  a  panic  at  the  thought  of  a  final 
encounter  with  that  terrible  will  of  yours."  He  turned 
and  met  a  pair  of  eyes  that  were  shining  like  a  cat's  in  the 
dark.  "You  know  that  you  have  been  manipulating 
the  strings  of  my  destiny!"  he  said,  abruptly,  and  sur 
prised  at  himself.  "I  grew  fearful  of  self-analysis  and 
buried  myself  in  the  law — jolly  good  antidote — but  I  am 
always  conscious  of  a  subtle  pressure  on  my  will — was. 
I  have  thrown  it  off.  It  was  either  that  or  leave." 

"Perhaps  you  have  felt  freer  since  Saturday  morning," 
said  Isabel,  cruelly. 

His  own  eyes  glittered,  but  if  he  blushed  the  dark 
ness  screened  him.  "Quite  true,"  he  said,  dryly.  "The 
man-brute  turned.  And  in  the  final  battle,  when  the 
feminine  principle  is  pitted  against  the  masculine,  I  fancy 
we  shall  know  how  to  win  the  day.  If  we  resort  to 
primitive  methods  it  will  be  your  own  fault." 

"I  was  invited  for  dinner  to-morrow  night,  and  had  to 
decline  because  my  arms  are  black-and-blue." 

"I  don't  repent,"  said  Gwynne*,  doggedly. 

There  was  another  silence,  and  then  he  asked:  "Haven't 
you  been  trying  to  manage  me  ?" 

"  I  have  only  been  trying  to  steer  you  in  a  new  country — 
to  make  things  a  little  easier — 

"You  are  not  always  frank.  And  that  is  not  altogether 
what  I  mean.  I  hardly  know  myself  what  I  do  mean. 
Before  I  arrived  I  thought  it  likely  I  should  ma — want  to 
marry  you.  In  many  respects  you  were  designed  to  be 
the  wife  of  an  ambitious  public  man.  With  your  beauty, 
and  brains,  your  grand  manner,  and  your  subtlety — but 

397 


ANCESTORS 

it  is  the  last  that  has  put  me  off.  I  have  seen  too  many 
men  managed  by  their  wives.  I  never  could  stand  it. 
Doubtless  my  Celtic  blood  gives  me  the  tiniest  feminine 
drop.  It  is  only  the  big  uncomplicated  oafs  that  don't 
mind  being  managed  by  their  women.  I  should  want  the 
freest  and  most  open  companionship,  but  with  my  will 
always  in  the  ascendant — although  no  man  would  be  more 
indulgent  to  his  wife." 

"You  will  find  thousands  to  answer  all  your  require 
ments  and  limitations." 

"Much  you  know  about  it.  True,  this  place  is  full  of 
handsome  and  attractive  women — topping!  And  they 
have  a  free  wild  grace,  a  stride,  a  swing — it  is  wonderful 
to  watch  them  go  up  these  hills.  And  I  was  vastly  enter 
tained  at  luncheon,  and  at  one  or  two  of  the  houses  where 
I  was  afterward  taken  to  call.  But  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever 
find  anyone  again  that  possesses  so  many  remarkable  quali 
ties  in  combination  as  your  own  puzzling  unsatisfactory 
self." 

"I  am  not  in  the  least  like  Mrs.  Kaye,  and  you  thought 
she  combined  every  quality  under  the  sun." 

"I  expended  the  last  of  my  calf  love  on  Mrs.  Kaye.  I 
was  blinded  by  passion;  but  that  my  emotional  depths 
were  not  even  stirred  was  manifested  by  the  rapidity  of  my 
convalescence.  We  were  utterly  unsuited.  In  many 
respects  I  should  have  been  ashamed  of  her.  Blood  must 
always  tell  in  England — although  in  America — if  Mrs. 
Hofer  is  a  type — well,  this  is  the  land  of  reversed  theories. 
Mrs.  Kaye  and  I  would  have  been  at  swords'  points  in  less 
than  a  year.  The  next  time  I  choose  a  wife  it  will  be  with 
my  judgment." 

"And  are  you  no  longer  capable  of  love  ?" 

398 


A      N      C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

"Oh,  love!"  Once  more  Gwynne  gazed  down  upon 
the  sleepless  city,  where  the  lights  seemed  to  powder  the 
upper  air  with  gold  dust.  "Perhaps.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  day  in  Park  Lane  that  all  the  heat  died  out  of  my 
veins.  I  am  only  just  beginning  to  feel  alive  once  more. 
But  I  have  no  wish  as  yet  to  experience  the  passion  of  love 
again — not  even  with  you;  although  if  you  would  cry  off 
in  some  respects  I  don't  know  but  that  I  should  still  like 
to  marry  you." 

"At  least  you  could  beat  me  if  I  did  not  behave." 

He  laughed.  "I  don't  doubt  I  should  want  to.  No, 
I'll  never  let  myself  go  like  that  again;  but  I  should  be 
sure  first  that  my  will  was  the  stronger  of  the  two." 

"You  carefully  abstain  from  proposing  so  that  I  cannot 
make  the  retort  I  should  like  to." 

"You  may.  I  know  you  won't  have  me.  But  that 
does  not  alter  the  fact  that  the  same  ancestral  lines  have 
given  us  an  inconceivable  number  of  molecules  that  are 
subtly  responsive.  The  great  cleavage  has  accomplished 
as  many  points  of  divergence  and  contrast.  Therefore  is 
there,  in  me,  at  least,  an  insistent  whisper  for  ancestral  and 
long  denied  rights.  You  will  feel  it  in  time — " 

"How  much  you  have  thought  about  it!" 

"My  mind  is  pretty  well  oiled:  it  does  not  take  me  years 
to  work  out  any  proposition.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have 
never  put  that  undercurrent  of  consciousness  into  wcrds 
until  to-night.  All  the  same,  even  if  I  loved  you,  if  I 
finally  believed  you  to  be  the  stronger  of  the  two,  I  should 
take  the  next  boat  for  England.  California  wouldn't  hold 
me.  And  I  should  not  say  good-bye." 

"That  would  be  a  confession  of  weakness." 

"It  is  one  I'd  be  the  better  for  making." 
399 


ANCESTORS 

"Well,  anyhow,  as  I  am  hostess  I  can  order  you  to  bed. 
It  must  be  one  o'clock.  I  don't  doubt  you  will  find  more 
than  one  affinity  if  you  are  awakening;  that  is  merely  the 
mating  instinct.  Good-night." 

Far  too  hospitable  and  high-handed  to  incommode  a 
guest,  she  did  not  tell  him  that  Paula  had  gone,  and  that 
Stone  had  sauntered  out  in  search  of  a  "bracer,"  and  had 
not  returned.  Gwynne  slept  the  sleep  of  the  unburdened 
conscience,  and  returned  to  Rosewater  by  the  first  train — 
Isabel  was  remaining  in  town  for  another  day — ignorant 
not  only  of  having  violated  the  proprieties,  but  of  the  fact 
that  a  former  inhabitant  of  Rosewater  lived  not  far  from 
the  foot  of  the  bluff. 


XXV 

TWO  weeks  later  Lady  Victoria  was  established  in 
the  house  on  Russian  Hill.  She  had  given  no  intima 
tion  of  her  coming  until  the  day  her  train  was  due  in  Oak 
land,  when  she  telegraphed,  suddenly  reflecting,  no  doubt, 
that  she  was  descending  into  the  wilderness  and  that  pre 
cautions  were  wise.  Gwynne  barely  had  time  to  catch 
the  train  from  Rosewater,  and  when  the  connecting  boat 
arrived  at  the  ferry  building  in  San  Francisco,  he  was 
obliged  to  run  like  a  thief  pursued  by  a  policeman  down 
to  the  Oakland  ferry  building,  in  order  to  catch  the  boat 
just  starting  to  meet  the  Overland  train.  All  this  was  by 
no  means  to  his  taste.  Nor  was  his  mother's  cavalier  arri 
val.  It  savored  too  much  of  royalty.  And  he  had  a  mascu 
line  disapproval  of  being  taken  by  surprise;  moreover  was 
far  less  ardent  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  his  mother  again 
than  he  would  have  expected.  In  England  he  had  needed 
her;  she  seemed  superfluous  in  this  country,  which  she 
never  would  understand;  and  he  wanted  all  his  time  for  his 
studies — and  as  little  reminder  of  England  as  possible. 
His  mother,  for  all  her  individualities,  was  the  concen 
trated  essence  of  the  England  he  knew  best.  Besides,  she 
was  accustomed  to  a  great  deal  of  attention.  He  had  no 
taste  ior  dancing  attendance  upon  any  one,  and  from 
whom  else  could  she  expect  it — unless,  to  be  sure — he 
recalled  that  his  mother  was  a  beautiful  woman,  always 

401 


ANCESTORS 

surrounded  by  a  court  of  admirers.  Why  should  Amer 
icans  be  impervious  to  the  accomplished  fascination  and 
the  beauty  of  a  woman  that  had  reigned  in  London  for 
thirty  years  ?  He  determined  to  press  Isabel  into  service. 
She  could  try  her  hand  on  his  mother's  American  destinies, 
and  provide  her  with  amusement  and  a  host  of  friends. 

He  felt  all  the  promptings  of  natural  affection  when  he 
was  actually  face  to  face  with  his  mother  once  more,  and 
forgot  all  his  doubts  in  his  intense  amusement  at  her  naive 
surprise  before  the  comfortable  immensity  of  the  San 
Francisco  hotels,  and  the  crowds  and  automobiles  in  the 
streets. 

The  next  day  he  took  her  up  to  the  ranch.  For  a  week 
she  stalked  about  the  country,  eight  hours  out  of  the  twen 
ty-four,  expressing  interest  in  nothing,  although  her  eyes 
always  softened  at  her  son's  approach;  and  if  she  mani 
fested  no  enthusiasm  for  his  adopted  country,  at  least  she 
barely  mentioned  the  one  of  his  heart.  At  the  end  of  a 
week  she  promptly  accepted  Isabel's  suggestion  to  transfer 
herself  and  her  grim  disgusted  maid  to  the  house  on 
Russian  Hill.  Isabel  lost  no  time  in  piloting  her  thither. 
Anne  Montgomery  undertook  to  provide  her  with  a  small 
staff  of  servants,  and  to  call  daily  and  order  the  household 
until  all  wheels  were  on  their  tracks.  Mrs.  Hofer  delight 
edly  agreed  to  be  the  social  sponsor  of  Lady  Victoria 
Gwynne,  and  issued  invitations  at  once  for  a  tea  and  a 
dinner;  and  Gwynne,  who  had  been  half  indifferent  to  re 
building  on  the  San  Francisco  property,  immediately  began 
holding  long  interviews  with  bankers,  lawyers,  architects, 
and  contractors.  The  law  required  him  to  give  but 
thirty  days'  notice  to  his  tenants,  well-to-do  workmen;  and 
if  all  went  well  the  building  might  be  finished  in  seven 

402 


ANCESTORS 

months.  Lady  Victoria  evinced  something  like  a  renewed 
interest  in  life  when  told  that  by  the  following  winter  her 
income  would  be  increased;  and  trebled  as  soon  as  the 
large  revenue  from  the  building  had  paid  off  the  mortgage. 
Her  son  offered  to  place  his  own  share  at  her  disposal 
until  her  debts  were  paid,  but  to  this  she  would  not  listen. 
He  found  her  maternal  affection  undimmed,  but  other 
changes  in  her  which  he  was  far  too  masculine  to  under 
stand,  and  after  she  was  fairly  settled  and  apparently 
content,  he  dismissed  feminine  idiosyncrasies  from  his 
overburdened  mind.  He  had  neglected  his  studies  long 
enough,  and  it  was  time  to  begin  his  amateur  practice  in 
Judge  Leslie's  office,  to  say  nothing  of  the  bi-weekly 
lecture  at  the  State  University  at  Berkeley,  which,  with  the 
journeys,  consumed  the  day. 

Isabel's  feminine  soul  took  a  far  more  abiding  interest 
in  the  subtle  changes  of  that  complicated  modern  evolution 
whose  special  arrangement  of  particles  was  labelled 
Victoria  Gwynne.  She  bore  little  external  traces  of  her 
illness,  and  when  Isabel  congratulated  her  upon  so  com 
plete  a  recovery,  she  looked  as  blank  as  if  memory  had 
failed  her.  Isabel  had  encountered  this  truly  British 
attitude  before,  and  experienced  none  of  the  irritation  of 
several  of  the  Englishwoman's  new  acquaintances  when  in 
sisting  upon  the  beneficence  of  the  San  Francisco  climate. 
But  it  was  not  long  before  Isabel  discerned  that  under 
that  sphinx-like  exterior  the  older  woman  was  intensely 
nervous,  that  once  or  twice  even  her  splendid  breeding 
could  not  control  an  outburst  of  irritability.  Her  eyes, 
too,  had  a  curious  hard  opaque  look,  as  if  the  old  voluptuous 
tires  had  burned  out;  and  she  seemed  ever  on  her  guard. 
What  her  future  plans  were  no  man  could  guess.  She 

403 


ANCESTORS 

might  have  settled  down  for  life  on  Russian  Hill,  so  com 
pletely  did  she  make  the  new  environment  fit  her  imperious 
person.  She  even  remarked  casually  to  Isabel  that  "of 
course"  she  should  entertain  in  the  course  of  the  winter, 
but  at  one  of  the  hotels;  she  would  never  ask  people  to 
climb  those  stairs  on  a  possibly  rainy  night.  But  it  was 
evident  that  her  entertaining  would  be  merely  on  the 
principle  of  noblesse  oblige;  her  lack  of  interest  in  the  do 
ings  of  a  civilization  so  different  from  her  own  was  patent, 
and  it  was  doubtful  if  she  would  have  even  accepted  the 
attentions  showered  upon  her  had  she  not  feared  the 
alternative  of  an  unbroken  ennui.  Isabel  felt  vaguely 
sorry  for  her,  and  puzzled  deeply,  but  she  could  do  no 
more  than  provide  her  with  entertainment  and  the  abun 
dant  comforts  and  luxuries  of  the  city;  to  express  any 
deeper  and  more  womanly  sympathy  to  that  proud  nature 
would  have  been  a  liberty  Isabel  would  have  been  the  last 
to  take.  But  she  retained  her  own  rooms  and  went  down 
with  Gwynne  once  a  week,  when  they  both  devoted  them 
selves  to  Lady  Victoria's  amusement.  It  was  at  least 
gratifying  that  the  French  restaurants  and  many  of  the 
unique  Bohemian  resorts  entertained  her  more  than 
society;  and  she  found  the  Stones  amusing,  and  frankly 
made  use  of  Paula,  who  did  all  her  shopping,  receiving 
many  a  careless  present. 

Meanwhile  Gwynne,  when  not  reading,  or  practising, 
or  attending  lectures,  or  endeavoring  to  hurry  forward  his 
new  enterprise  in  the  city,  took  long  buggy  rides  with  Tom 
Colton  about  the  country,  and  made  acquaintance  with 
many  farmers,  as  well  as  with  the  guileful  depths  of  the 
ambitious  young  politician.  Colton,  although  for  the 
present  dependent  upon  only  the  voters  of  his  district, 

404 


ANCESTORS 

by  no  means  confined  his  attentions  even  to  those  of 
his  county.  The  time  would  come  when  he  would  need 
a  wide  popularity,  and  with  his  cool  far-sighted  tactics  he 
was  already  sowing  its  seeds.  There  was  an  immense 
and  varied  material  to  work  on.  Not  only  were  his  own 
county  and  the  two  adjoining  as  large  as  a  State  more 
modest  than  California,  but,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Asti  vineyards,  and  one  or  two  ranches  like  Lumalitas, 
were  cut  up  into  an  infinite  number  of  farms  owned  by 
Irish,  Scotch,  Danes,  Norwegians,  Swedes,  Hungarians, 
Swiss,  Germans,  Italians,  and  a  few  native  Americans. 
Asti  alone,  a  great  district  devoted  to  the  vine,  and  boast 
ing  the  largest  tank  in  the  world,  was  entirely  in  the  hands 
of  Italians.  The  Swiss,  for  the  most  part,  were  cheese 
makers.  The  rest  devoted  themselves  to  chickens,  grain, 
hay,  wheat,  and  fruit.  There  were  several  orange  or 
chards  and  one  violet  farm.  Many  of  these  foreigners 
were  so  numerous  that  churches  had  been  built  for  their 
separate  use,  and  service  was  held  in  their  native  tongue. 
All  were  willing  to  drop  work  for  a  few  moments  and  talk 
politics  with  Colton,  particularly  if  it  was  to  abuse  law 
makers  and  monopolists — above  all,  the  railroads,  whose 
prices  were  exorbitant,  and  whose  service  was  inadequate. 
In  this  department  of  monopoly  at  least  they  had  a  real 
grievance,  and  Colton  never  let  them  forget  it.  He  made 
no  secret  of  the  fact  that  the  United  States  Senate  was  his 
goal,  and  reiterated  that  there  alone  could  he  accomplish 
the  legislation  that  would  free  the  farmer  from  the  costly 
tyranny  of  the  corporations  and  give  the  laboring  man  his 
rightful  share  of  profit.  Some  were  skeptical  that  any 
mortal  could  accomplish  all  he  promised,  but  the  foreigners 
for  the  most  part  were  gullible,  and  they  all  liked  the  rich 

405 


ANCESTORS 

man's  son,  with  his  simple  ways  and  his  blatant  democ 
racy. 

Of  Gwynne  they  took  little  notice,  but  he  studied  them, 
one  and  all,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  understood  the 
materials  with  which  he  must  deal  in  the  future.  The 
State  was  Republican,  although  San  Francisco  presented 
the  remarkable  spectacle  of  a  Democratic  mayor  with  a 
Republican  boss  controlling  the  labor  element,  which 
was  presumably  democratic  in  essence,  and  devoted  to 
the  figurehead.  But  country  politics  were  far  less  com 
plicated,  and  it  was  possible  that  a  strong  Democrat  with 
a  sufficiency  of  inherent  power  could  weld  together  the 
conflicting  and  half  indifferent  elements,  and  change  the 
political  current.  Californians  had  gone  thunderously 
Republican  at  the  last  Presidential  election,  because  for 
the  moment  they  were  dazzled  by  the  Roosevelt  star  and 
all  it  seemed  to  portend.  There  could  be  no  better  augury 
for  a  really  great  and  sincere  leader;  for  whether  or  not 
Roosevelt  was  all  they  imagined,  the  point  to  consider  was 
that  they  had  been  carried  away  by  their  higher  en 
thusiasms,  not  by  those  a  mere  trickster  like  Colton  was 
trying  to  stimulate.  They  had  rushed  to  the  polls  with 
all  that  was  best  in  their  natures  in  the  ascendant,  eager  not 
only  for  a  great  servant  that  would  reform  many  abuses, 
but  for  one  that  stood  at  the  moment  before  the  country 
as  the  embodiment  of  all  that  was  high-minded,  uncom 
promisingly  honest,  and  nobly  patriotic  in  American  life. 
It  was  one  of  the  greatest  personal  triumphs  ever  accom 
plished — for  the  leaders  wished  nothing  more  ardently 
than  his  downfall — and  whether  or  not  it  was  to  be  justi 
fied  by  history,  it  must  ever  remain  to  his  credit  that  he  had 
hypnotized  his  countrymen  through  the  higher  channels 

406 


ANCESTORS 

of  their  nature.  The  reaction  might  be  bitter,  but  memory 
is  short,  and  at  least  he  had  served  to  demonstrate  that  the 
American  mind  was  not  materialized  by  the  lust  of  gain, 
was  quite  as  susceptible  to  the  loftier  patriotic  prompt 
ings  as  in  the  days  of  its  revolutionary  and  simpler  ances 
tors.  A  man  like  Colton  might  delude  for  a  time,  for  the 
Democratic  party  was  deplorably  weak  in  leaders,  and 
the  Republican  bosses,  in  California,  as  elsewhere,  had 
made  the  State  a  byword  for  shameless  corruption;  and 
their  iron  heel  ground  hard  even  in  that  land  of  climate 
and  plenty.  Colton  might  be  useful  to  rouse  Californians 
to  a  sense  of  their  wrongs  and  opportunities,  but  Gwynne 
doubted  if  he  could  hold  them.  He  promised  too  much. 
The  time  would  come  when  they  would  turn  to  a  strong 
man  who  talked  less  and  did  more,  who  gradually  imbued 
them  with  the  conviction  of  absolute  honesty,  distinguished 
ability,  and  as  much  disinterestedness  as  it  is  reasonable 
to  expect  of  any  mortal  striving  for  the  great  prizes  of  life. 
One  day  there  was  a  mass-meeting  suddenly  called  to 
express  sympathy  with  the  orange  growers  of  the  South, 
who  had  dumped  twelve  carloads  of  early  oranges  into  the 
San  Francisco  Bay  rather  than  submit  to  the  increased 
rates  of  the  transcontinental  railroads.  Gwynne  saw  his 
opportunity  and  summoned  his  powers.  There  was  a 
moment  of  doubt,  of  hesitancy,  of  reflection  that  he  was 
rusty,  and  that  the  subject  was  of  no  special  interest  to 
him;  then,  at  the  eager  insistence  of  Colton,  he  walked 
rapidly  to  the  front  of  the  platform  with  all  the  actor's 
exalted  nervous  delight  in  a  new  role.  In  a  few  moments 
there  was  no  subject  on  earth  so  interesting  to  him  as  the 
iniquities  of  the  railroads  and  the  wrongs  of  the  orange 
growers;  he  awoke  from  his  torpor  so  triumphantly  that 

407 


ANCESTORS 

his  amazed  audience,  as  of  old,  felt  the  deep  flattery  of 
its  power  over  him,  and  he  made  a  speech  which  was  like 
the  rushing  of  risen  waters  through  a  broken  dam.  Not 
that  he  permitted  himself  to  be  carried  away  wholly;  he 
deliberately  refrained  from  indiscriminate  phillipics,  from 
rousing  their  ire  too  far,  grasped  the  opportunity  to  see 
what  could  be  done  by  appealing  to  their  reason  through 
their  higher  emotions,  and  begged  them  to  meet  constantly 
and  consider  the  question  of  electing  men  that  were  not 
mere  politicians,  that  would  deliver  the  State  from  the 
medieval  tyranny  that  oppressed  it;  advised  his  hearers  to 
employ  the  best  legal  counsel  they  could  get,  and  to  give 
their  leisure  moments  to  the  study  of  practical  politics, 
instead  of  indolently  submitting  all  great  questions  to  the 
hands  of  men  as  unscrupulous  as  the  State  bosses  and 
corporations.  With  his  peculiar  gift  he  made  each 
breathless  man  in  the  auditorium  feel  not  only  that  he  was 
being  personally  addressed,  but  that  his  mental  equip 
ment  had  mysteriously  been  raised  to  the  plane  of  the 
speaker's.  When  Gwynne  finished  amid  applause  as 
great  as  any  he  had  evoked  in  England  after  the  expound 
ing  of  great  issues  dear  to  his  heart,  he  turned  to  find 
Colton  regarding  him  with  sharp  eyes  and  lowering  brow. 
He  immediately  took  his  arm  and  led  him  without. 

"  I  am  glad  a  climax  has  come  so  soon,"  he  said.  "  Other 
wise  I  should  have  begun  to  feel  like  a  hypocrite.  Not 
only  are  your  principles  and  mine  utterly  antagonistic,  but 
you  must  consider  me  as  your  rival.  I  can  do  nothing 
definite,  of  course,  for  nearly  four  years,  and  meanwhile 
you  may  reach  the  United  States  Senate.  If  you  do  I  shall 
do  my  utmost  to  oust  you.  Nevertheless,  if  I  can  be  of 
any  service  in  sending  you  there  I  am  perfectly  willing  to 

408 


A_ NCESTORS 

place  myself  at  your  disposal,  for  the  experience  and  in 
sight  I  shall  acquire  in  exchange.  And  as  you  are  no  worse 
than  the  others,  and  some  one  must  go,  it  might  as  well  be 
you  as  another.  But,  I  repeat,  I  shall  use  all  my  powers 
to  oust  you  and  take  your  place." 

Colton  stood  for  a  few  moments,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
regarding  the  ground.  Then  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  smiled 
ingenuously. 

"You  are  dead  straight,  for  a  fact.  And  I  think  I  have 
got  just  as  good  an  opinion  of  myself  as  you  have  of  your 
self.  You  put  me  in  the  United  States  Senate  with  that 
tongue  of  yours — God,  you  can  talk! — and  I'll  take  the 
chances  of  even  you  getting  me  out.  It  will  take  more 
than  eloquence  to  upset  a  great  State  machine,  and  before 
I  get  through  I'll  have  the  Democratic  machine  stronger 
than  the  Republican  is  to-day.  You  can't  get  anywhere  in 
this  country  without  the  machine,  and  the  man  in  control 
stays  in  control  unless  he  falls  down,  and  this  I  don't  pro 
pose  to  do.  I'll  swap  frankness  and  tell  you  right  here 
that  when  I'm  boss  I  may  let  you  come  to  Congress  as  my 
colleague,  but  that  you've  got  to  do  as  I  say  when  you  get 
there.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"I'll  take  all  the  chances.  At  least  we  understand  each 
other.  I  work  for  you  now,  and  I  break  the  power  of  both 
you  and  your  infernal  machine  when  I  am  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States." 

"Shake,"  said  Colton. 

And  they  shook. 


XXVI 

ISABEL  sat  idly  on  the  veranda  of  her  old  hotel  as 
1  was  her  habit  in  the  evening  hour.  There  had  been 
no  heavy  rains  as  yet  to  freshen  the  hills  and  swell  the 
tides  until  the  salt  waters  scalded  the  juices  from  the 
marsh  grass,  turning  it  from  green  to  bronze  and  red;  and 
the  barometer  was  stationary.  A  cool  wind  came  in  from 
the  sea  with  the  flood,  and  Isabel  enjoyed  the  beauty  that 
was  hers  all  the  more  luxuriously  in  her  thick  shawl  of 
white  wool.  A  great  part  of  the  valley  north  and  south 
was  within  the  range  of  her  vision,  and  it  was  suffused  with 
gold  under  a  sky  that  looked  like  an  inverted  crucible 
pouring  down  its  treasures  in  the  prodigal  fashion  of  the 
land.  Facing  her  house  and  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
marsh,  at  its  widest  here,  was  a  high  wall  of  rock,  from 
which  the  valley  curved  backward  on  either  side,  tapering 
to  the  great  level  in  the  north,  but  on  the  south  halting 
abruptly  before  the  mass  of  mountains  following  the  coast 
line  and  topped  by  the  angular  shoulder  of  Tamalpais; 
coal  black  to-night  against  the  intense  gold  of  the  West. 

She  had  not  seen  Gwynne  for  several  days,  and  half  ex 
pected  that  he  would  come  to-night.  These  were  busy 
days,  and  she  saw  less  of  him  than  formerly,  although  he 
snatched  an  hour  for  shooting  whenever  he  could,  and 
occasionally  rode  over  for  supper;  and  they  saw  much 
of  each  other  during  the  weekly  visit  to  the  city.  Their 

410 


ANCESTORS 

relations  were  easy  and  sexless.  He  refused  to  talk  of 
chickens,  but  they  had  many  other  interests  in  common. 
She  had  by  no  means  forgotten  his  outbreak  in  the  launch, 
and  had  scowled  at  her  arms  for  quite  a  week  as  she 
brushed  her  hair  for  bed,  but  that  episode  was  now  several 
weeks  old,  and  she  had  ceased  to  harbor  resentment.  But 
she  was  subtly  out  of  conceit  with  herself  and  life,  resent 
ful  that  she  missed  any  one,  after  her  long  triumph  in 
freedom  from  human  ties;  also  resentful  of  the  respect  and 
interest  with  which  Gwynne  had  inspired  her,  particularly 
since  his  summary  expulsion  of  her  will  from  the  battle 
ground  where  it  was  becoming  accustomed  to  easy  triumphs. 
She  had  no  love  for  him,  and  she  was  as  satisfied  with  the 
life  she  had  chosen  as  ever,  but  she  was  beginning  to  feel 
a  sense  of  approaching  confusion,  where  readjustment 
would  once  more  be  necessary.  The  future  looked  longer, 
and  she  was  losing  her  pleasant  sense  of  finality.  She 
had  guessed  long  ago  that  the  only  chance  of  escaping 
the  terrible  restlessness  that  pursues  so  many  women,  like 
enemies  in  the  unseen  world  converted  into  furies,  was  to 
caress  and  hug  the  present,  fool  the  ego  into  the  belief 
that  it  wanted  nothing  beyond  an  imminent  future,  certain 
of  realization,  which  should  be  as  all-possessing  as  the 
present.  But  she  had  been  wise  enough  to  do  little 
analysis,  either  of  her  depths  or  of  life,  and  her  time  was 
full  enough. 

"Are  you  asleep?"  asked  a  polite  voice.  Gwynne 
swung  himself  over  the  low  railing  of  the  veranda. 

"I  did  not  hear  your  horse."  It  would  be  long  before 
he  could  surprise  her  into  any  sort  of  emotion  again. 

"Good  reason.  I  walked.  I  read  Cooley  until  I  had 
an  alarming  vision  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
26 


ANCESTORS 

States  writ  black  upon  the  sunset,  so  I  thought  it  was  high 
time  to  walk  it  off.  Naturally  my  footsteps  led  me  here." 

"That  was  nice  of  them.  Mac  will  drive  you  home, 
or  you  can  have  my  horse." 

"It  is  like  you  to  plan  my  departure  before  I  have  fairly 
arrived.  May  I  sit  down  ?" 

Isabel  shivered.  The  glow  had  gone,  there  was  only 
the  intense  dark  fiery  blue  behind  the  stars — silver  and 
crystal  and  green;  one  rarely  sees  a  golden  star  in  California. 
There  were  'scattered  lights  in  Rosewater  and  on  the  hill 
sides;  and  the  night  boat  winding  through  the  marsh  was 
a  mere  chain  of  colored  lights;  here  and  there  a  lamp  on 
a  head  mast  looked  like  a  fallen  star. 

"That  is  the  way  I  generally  feel  after  the  glow  has 
disappeared,"  said  Gwynne,  abruptly.  "Let  us  go  in." 

There  were  blazing  logs  on  the  hearth,  and  a  com 
fortable  chair  on  either  side.  The  room  looked  very 
red  and  warm  and  seductive.  As  they  passed  the  table 
Isabel  half  lifted  one  of  the  English  Reviews  for  which  she 
subscribed.  "There  is  an  allusion  to  you  here,"  she  said. 
"  I  meant  to  send  it  to  you.  I  fancy  they  want  you  back. 
It  is  very  complimentary." 

But  Gwynne  concealed  the  promptings  of  vanity  and 
took  one  of  the  chairs  at  the  fireside,  asking  permission  to 
light  his  pipe.  She  noted,  as  she  settled  herself  opposite, 
that  there  was  less  of  repose  in  his  long  figure  than  formerly, 
something  of  repressed  activity,  and  his  rather  heavy  eyes 
were  colder  and  more  alert. 

"It  all  seems  a  thousand  years  ago,"  he  said.  "I  am 
John  Gwynne.  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  love  your  Cali 
fornia,  but  I  am  interested — this  mass  of  typical  Europeans 
not  yet  Americanized — no  common  brain  to  work  on,  no 

412 


ANCESTORS 

one  set  of  racial  peculiarities.  And  the  law  has  me  fast. 
I  have  become  frightfully  ambitious.  Talk  about  your 
Hamilton.  I  too  walk  the  floor  till  the  small  hours,  re 
peating  pages  aloud.  My  Jap  thinks  me  mad,  and  no 
doubt  is  only  induced  to  remain  at  his  post  by  the  excel- 
lence  of  my  tobacco,  and  the  fact  that  his  education  is  un 
hindered  by  much  service.  While  I  am  packing  my  own 
brain  cells  I  infer  that  he  is  attending  a  night  school  in 
St.  Peter,  for  I  hear  him  returning  at  all  hours;  and  he 
certainly  shows  no  trace  of  other  dissipation.  We  have 
never  exchanged  ten  sentences,  but  perhaps  we  act  as  a 
mutual  stimulus." 

"Don't  you  love  California  the  least  little  bit?"  asked 
Isabel,  wistfully.  "Or  San  Francisco?" 

"I  have  liked  San  Francisco  too  well  upon  several 
occasions — when  I  have  run  down  to  spend  the  night  at 
the  Hofers — or  have  fallen  in  with  Stone  on  my  way  back 
from  Berkeley,  and  been  induced  to  stay  over.  Hofer 
and  that  set  seem  to  be  content  with  living  well;  they  are 
too  serious  for  dissipation.  But  Stone!  Of  course  such 
men  die  young,  but  they  are  useful  in  exciting  the  mind 
to  wonder  and  awe.  I  don't  think  I  am  in  any  danger  of 
becoming  San  Franciscan  to  the  point  of  feeding  her  in 
satiable  furnaces  with  all  the  fires  of  my  being,  but  there 
is  no  denying  her  fascination,  and  it  has  given  me  a  very 
considerable  pleasure  to  yield  to  it.  Whether  I  shall 
practise  law  there — change  my  base — I  have  not  yet  had 
time  to  think  it  out." 

'A  country  lawyer's  is  certainly  no  career." 

"This  is  a  good  place  to  begin  politically.  San  Fran 
cisco  is  too  hard  a  nut  to  crack  at  present.  If  I  could  be 
come  powerful  in  the  State,  the  Independent  leader  they 

413 


ANCESTORS 

need,  then  I  might  transfer  my  attentions  to  that  un 
happy  town.  Even  Hofer  and  all  the  rest  of  the  devoted 
band  seem  to  be  practically  helpless  since  the  re-election  of 
the  mayor.  What  could  I  do — at  present  ?" 

"With  a  big  legal  reputation  made  in  San  Francisco  you 
could  travel  very  fast  and  far.  And  you  would  be  learning 
every  thread  of  every  rope,  become  what  is  technically 
known  as  'on';  and  then  when  the  time  came — " 

"I  hate  so  much  waiting!  The  shortest  cut  is  here  in 
the  country.  I  shall  manage  these  men  far  better  than 
Colton,  who  is  the  crudest  type  of  American  politician. 
Nothing  could  be  simpler  than  his  program:  abuse, 
promise.  Nothing  simpler  than  his  ambition:  all  for  him 
self,  and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost.  I  have  yet  to  hear 
him  utter  a  sentiment  that  betrays  any  love  of  his  country 
or  desire  to  serve  her,  any  real  public  spirit.  Those  are 
the  sentiments  I  am  trying  to  cultivate  for  this  accidental 
land  of  my  birth,  for  without  them  ambition  is  inexcusable 
and  endeavor  a  hollow  sham." 

"And  can't  you?"  Isabel  left  her  chair  and  stood 
by  the  mantel-piece.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken 
of  himself  with  any  approach  to  confidence  since  the  day 
of  his  arrival.  "Sometimes  I  repent  the  share  I  had  in 
your  coming  to  America — not  that  I  flatter  myself  I  had 
much  to  do  with  it — "  she  added,  hastily.  "  But  my  being 
there  may  have  turned  the  scale.  You  might  have  gone 
off  to  rule  a  South  American  Republic — 

"I  should  have  done  nothing  so  asinine,  and  you  had 
everything  to  do  with  my  coming  here.  Not  that  I  hold 
you  responsible.  You  gave  a  hint,  and  I  took  it." 

"And  you  don't  regret  it?" 

"Why  waste  time  in  regret?  I  can  go  back  any  mo- 
414 


ANCESTORS 

ment.  Not  that  I  have  the  least  intention  of  doing  any 
thing  of  the  sort." 

He  was  pleasantly  tired  in  mind  and  body,  and  the  warm 
homelike  room  caressed  his  senses.  He  settled  himself 
more  deeply  in  Hiram  Otis's  old  chair  and  looked  up  at 
Isabel.  She  had  laid  aside  the  white  shawl,  but  wore  a 
red  Indian  scarf  over  her  black  gown.  The  gown  was 
cut  out  in  a  square  at  the  neck;  she  always  dressed  for  her 
lonely  supper,  and  she  had  put  a  red  rose  in  her  hair,  in 
the  fashion  of  her  California  grandmothers.  With  her 
face  turned  from  the  light,  her  eyes  with  their  large  pupils 
looked  black. 

"I  shall  stay  in  California,  like  or  no  like,"  continued 
Gwynne.  "But  I  did  not  walk  five  miles  to  talk  politics 
with  a  woman  after  a  day  of  law  and  the  citizens  of  Rose- 
water.  Where  did  you  get  that  curious  old-fashioned 
scarf?" 

"I  found  it  in  a  trunk  of  my  mother's.  Doutbless  it 
belonged  to  her  mother.  I  also  found  this."  She  in 
dicated  a  fine  gold  chain  and  heart  of  garnets  that  lay  on 
her  white  neck.  The  humor  m  his  eyes  had  quickened 
into  admiration;  he  reflected  that  the  various  streams  in 
her  composit:~*>  might  not  be  so  completely  blended  as 
would  appear  upon  that  normally  placid  surface.  The 
feeling  of  uneasiness  which  he  had  peremptorily  dismissed 
stole  over  him  once  more.  She  looked  wholly  Spanish, 
and  put  out  the  light  of  every  brunette  he  knew.  Dolly 
Boutts,  whom  he  still  admired  at  a  distance,  although  u<i 
fled  at  her  approach,  was  a  bouncing  peasant  by  contrast; 
and  several  well-bred  and  entertaining  young  women  of 
the  same  warm  hues  that  he  had  met  during  the  past  few 
weeks  in  San  Francisco  suddenly  seemed  to  be  the  merest 

415 


ANCESTORS 

climatic  accidents  beside  this  girl  who  unrolled  the  pages 
of  California's  older  past  and  afforded  him  a  fleeting  vision 
of  those  lovely  donas  and  fiery  caballeros  for  whom  life  was 
an  eternal  playground.  That  they  were  his  progenitors  as 
well  as  hers  he  found  it  difficult  to  realize,  he  seemed  to 
have  inherited  so  little  of  them;  but  they  had  flown  gen 
erously  to  Isabel's  making,  and  to-night  she  gave  him  that 
same  impression  of  historic  background  as  when  she  turned 
the  seventy  of  her  profile  up  on  him  and  suggested  a 
doughtier  race. 

"It  was  about  the  same  time,"  he  said,  abruptly. 

"What?" 

"While  our  Spanish  ancestors  were  playing  at  this  end 
of  the  continent,  our  *  American'  forefathers  were  bracing 
themselves  against  England.  It  was  in  1776  that  the 
Presidio  and  Mission  of  San  Francisco  were  founded,  was 
it  not  ?  Curious  coincidence.  Perhaps  that  is  what  gives 
you  your  sense  of  destiny." 

"I  have  no  sense  of  destiny." 

"Oh,  but  you  have.  Now  I  know  that  you  are  quite 
Spanish  to-night.  It  is  your  more  ordinary  mood  of  calm 
unvarnished — not  to  say  brutal — directness  that  gives  you 
your  greatest  charm  as  a  comrade — even  while  you  repel 
as  a  woman." 

"Do  I  repel  as  a  woman?"  Isabel  had  placed  one  foot 
on  the  fender,  one  hand  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  as  she 
leaned  slightly  towards  him,  the  red  glow  of  the  lamps 
and  the  mellow  old  scarf  softening  her  features,  the  small 
square  of  neck  dazzlingly  white,  and  the  position  revealing 
the  lines  of  her  figure  against  the  high  flames  of  the  logs, 
she  looked  more  lovely  than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  Like 
all  racial  beauties,  bred  by  selection,  she  needed  the  arts 

416 


ANCESTORS 

of  dress  and  furnishings  to  frame  her.  It  is  only  your 
accidental  or  peasant  beauty  that  can  defy  "clothes";  and 
Isabel's  looks  in  ordinary  ranch ,  and  riding  costumes 
made  no  impression  on  Gwynne  whatever.  But  to-night 
her  appeal  was  very  direct,  although  he  had  not  the  least 
idea  whether  she  was  posing  or  was  entirely  natural  in  an 
unusual  mood.  He  had  no  intention  of  being  made  a  fool 
of,  however,  and  answered  with  the  responsive  glow  in  his 
eyes  due  a  pretty  and  charming  woman: 

"Sometimes.  Not  to-night.  If  you  would  remain 
Spanish  with  no  Revolutionary  lapses,  I  make  no  doubt  I 
should  fall  in  love  with  you,  and  then  perhaps  you  would 
fall  in  love  with  me  merely  because  of  my  own  lack  of 
picturesqueness,  and  we  should  live  happily  ever  after." 

"What  a  bore."  Isabel  sniffed,  and  moved  her  gaze 
to  the  fire.  But  she  did  not  alter  her  attitude. 

"Are  you  really  happy?"  asked  Gwynne,  curiously. 

"Of  course.  So  much  so  that  it  begins  to  worry  me  a 
little.  My  puritanical  instincts  dictate  that  I  have  no 
right  to  be  quite  happy.  What  slaves  we  are  to  the  old 
poisons  in  our  blood!  I  live  by  the  light  of  my  reason, 
and  all  is  well  until  one  of  those  mouldy  instincts,  like  a 
buried  disease  germ,  raps  all  round  its  tomb.  Then  I  feel 
nothing  but  a  graveyard  of  all  my  ancestors.  I  don't  let 
them  out,  and  my  reason  continues  its  rule,  but  they 
keep  me  from  being — well — entirely  happy,  and  I  resent 
that." 

"I  should  say  it  was  not  the  Puritans  but  your  common 
womanly  instincts  that  were  thumping  round  their  cells. 
You  have  no  right  to  be  happy  except  as  Nature  intended 
when  she  deliberately  equipped  you,  and  that  is  in  making 
some  man  happy." 

417 


ANCESTORS 

"That  is  one  of  those  superstitions  I  am  trying  to  live 
down  while  I  am  still  young.  Your  mother  is  unhappy, 
under  all  her  pride,  because  she  has  outlived  youth  and 
beauty  and  all  they  meant  to  her — she  made  them  her 
gods,  and  now  they  have  gone,  and  she  doesn't  know 
which  way  to  turn.  Ennui  devours  her,  and  she  is  too 
old  to  turn  her  brains  to  account,  too  cynical  for  the 
average  resource  of  religion,  and  too  steeped,  dyed, 
solidified,  in  one  kind  of  womanism  to  turn  at  this  late 
date  to  any  other.  But  there  are  so  many  resources  for  the 
woman  of  to-day.  The  poor  despised  pioneers  have  done 
that  for  us.  Of  course  it  has  not  killed  our  natural  in 
stincts,  and  if  I  had  not  fallen  in  love  when  I  did,  no 
doubt  I  should  still  be  looking  about  for  an  opportunity. 
It  is  my  good-fortune  that  I  was  delivered  so  soon.  I  wish 
all  women  born  to  enjoy  life  in  its  variety  could  be  freed 
of  that  terrible  burden  of  sex  as  early  as  I  was." 

"I  suppose  you  would  like  to  rid  men  of  it  too." 

"I  do  not  waste  any  thought  on  men;  so  far  as  I  have 
observed  they  are  able  to  take  care  of  themselves." 

"A  woman  incapable  of  passion  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  failure." 

"I  have  seen  so  many  commonplace  women  capable  of 
it!  Look  at  Mrs.  Haight  and  Paula." 

"I  never  look  at  Mrs.  Haight,  but  as  for  Mrs.  Stone 
I  can  quite  conceive  that  if  she  had  better  taste  she 
would  be  almost  charming.  She  embodies  youth  properly 
equipped." 

"For  reproduction,  you  mean.  That  is  the  reason  that 
the  silliest,  the  meanest,  the  most  poisonous  girl  can  al 
ways  find  a  husband  if  she  is  healthy.  It  is  no  wonder  that 
some  of  us  want  a  new  standard." 

418 


ANCESTORS 

Gwynne  laughed.  "Schopenhauer  suits  you  better 
when  you  are  out  on  the  marsh  in  rubber  boots  and  a 
shooting-jacket.  Do  you  realize  that  if  you  persist  in  this 
determination  to  camp  permanently  in  the  outer — and 
frigid — zone,  you  will  never  be  the  centre  of  a  life  drama  ? 
That,  I  take  it,  is  what  every  woman  desires  most.  You 
had  a  sort  of  curtain-raiser — to  my  mind,  hardly  that. 
First  love  is  merely  the  more  picturesque  successor  of 
measles  and  whooping  -  cough.  In  marriage  it  may 
develop  into  something  worth  while,  but  in  itself  amounts 
to  nothing — except  as  material  for  poets.  But  the  real 
drama — that  is  in  the  permanent  relation.  This  relation 
is  the  motive  power  of  the  great  known  dramas  of  the 
world.  Life  is  packed  with  little  unheard  of  dramas  of 
precisely  the  same  sort — the  eternal  duet  of  sex;  nothing 
else  keeps  it  going.  Now,  it  is  positive  that  a  woman 
cannot  have  a  drama  all  by  herself — " 

"Not  a  drama  in  the  old  style.  But  that  is  what  we  are 
trying  to  avoid.  Are  there  not  other  faculties  ?  What  has 
civilization  done  for  the  world  if  it  is  to  be  everlastingly 
sex-ridden  ?  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  multitude  of 
faculties  that  progress  has  developed  ?  What  is  the 
meaning  of  life  itself — " 

"Oh,  are  you  aiming  to  read  the  riddle  of  life  ?" 

"I  mean  to  pass  my  own  life  in  the  effort.  Men  have 
failed.  It  is  our  turn.  But  if  I  say  any  more  I  suppose 
you  will  pinch  me  again." 

"No,"  said  Gwynne,  smiling.  "I  feel  much  more  like 
kissing  you — ah!" 

He  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  eyes  blaze.  His 
pipe  was  finished;  he  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  head  and 
almost  lay  down  in  his  deep  chair.  "  I  am  just  tired  enough 

419 


ANCESTORS 

to  be  completely  happy,  and  if  I  can  look  at  you  I  am  will 
ing  to  listen  like  a  lamb  all  night." 

"And  be  convinced  of  nothing."  Isabel  tossed  her 
head  and  returned  to  her  chair.  It  faced  him  and  he  could 
still  look  at  her.  They  watched  each  other  from  opposite 
sides  of  the  hearth  with  something  of  the  unblinking 
wariness  of  a  dog  and  a  cat,  and  no  doubt  had  they  pos 
sessed  caudal  appendages  they  would  have  lashed  them 
slowly. 

"I  don't  say  that,"  he  replied,  in  a  moment.  "I  believe 
I  intimated  that  I  came  here  to-night  with  a  purpose. 
It  was  to  tell  you  that  I  have  thought  more  or  less  about 
what  you  said  in  the  boat  that  morning,  and  that  I  can 
understand,  if  I  cannot  agree  with  you.  No  doubt  the 
times  have  bred  a  certain  class  of  women  too  good  for 
mere  matrimony.  I  have  seen  many  that  were  miserably 
thrown  away;  although  I  will  confess  that  the  only  remedy 
that  occurred  to  me  was  a  better  man.  But  if  you  and 
your  like — are  there  really  any  others  ? — if  you,  let  us  say, 
are  groping  towards  some  new  solution  of  life,  some  hap 
piness  recipe  that  will  benefit  the  few  that  deserve  it, 
far  be  it  from  a  mere  man  to — well — pinch  you.  You— 
you  individually — have  so  many  highly  developed  faculties 
that  I  can  conceive  your  finding  sufficient  occupation 
through  them,  a  filling  up  of  time; — and  no  doubt  idleness 
and  the  vain  groping  after  sex  happiness  are  the  principal 
reasons  for  the  failure  of  so  many  women.  But  work 
does  not  give  happiness;  it  merely  diminishes  the  capacity 
and  opportunities  for  unhappiness.  I  take  it  that  you, 
with  all  your  gifts  and  the  immense  amount  of  thought 
you  have  bestowed  on  the  subject,  are  striving  for  some 
thing  higher  than  that.  Besides,  I  had  your  lucid  expo- 

420 


ANCESTORS 

sition  of  your  mission.  I  now  have  an  additional  reason 
for  remaining  in  California — to  watch  the  new  century 
plant  flower.  Like  other  commonplace  mortals,  however, 
my  instincts  fight  for  the  only  solution  of  happiness  I  know 
anything  about.  I  still  think  that  as  the  wife  of  some  am 
bitious  public  man  you  would  find  a  far  better  market  for 
your  gifts  than  to  stand  as  a  sort  of  statue  of  Indepen 
dence  on  the  top  of  Russian  Hill  with  only  San  Fran 
cisco  to  admire.  And  if  you  passionately  loved  the 
man — " 

"Now  you  are  spoiling  everything.  But  it  is  handsome 
of  you  to  admit  that  I  am  not  a  fool;  and  that  you  have 
thought  my  theories  worth  turning  over  in  your  busy  mind 
:«  a  compliment  I  duly  appreciate." 

"Even  a  sneer  cannot  spoil  your  loveliness  to-night,  so 
I  don't  mind  the  sarcasm  in  the  least.  But  it  is  true  that 
in  my  few  unoccupied  intervals — as,  for  instance,  when 
Imura  Kisaburo  Hinamoto  is  shaving  me,  and  I  have, 
by  an  excess  of  politeness,  made  sure  that  he  will  not  cut 
my  throat — I  have  had  visions  of  you  on  that  ungainly 
pedestal  with  all  San  Francisco  kneeling  at  the  base.  It 
is  quite  conceivable.  I  am  a  born  leader  myself.  I  rec 
ognize  certain  attributes  in  you.  The  town  is  on  the  qui 
vive  to  know  you.  Mrs.  Hofer  is  determined  that  you  shall 
be  the  sensation  of  her  ball,  and  no  doubt  that  will  be  the 
commencement  of  your  illustrious  career.  When  you  are 
really  grown  into  your  pedestal  like  one  of  Rodin's  statues, 
you  are  certain  to  have  a  most  illustrious  and  distinctive 
career — and  accomplish  much  good.  But  you  will  be 
terribly  lonely." 

"I  should  not 'have  time.  And  if  I  am  a  born  leader, 
how,,  pray,  could  I  yoke  comfortably  with  any  man  ?  I 

421 


ANCESTORS 

should  despise  a  slave,  and  the  same  roof  will  not  shelter 
two  leaders." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  if  both  were  working  to  the 
same  end.  It  takes  two  halves  to  make  a  whole.  If 
women  have  so  far  been  the  subordinate  sex,  no  doubt  it  is 
merely  the  result  of  those  physical  disabilities  which 
enabled  man  to  gain  the  ascendency  during  the  long 
centuries  of  struggle  with  nature.  But  your  sex  is  rapidly 
altering  all  that.  We  shall  see  woman's  suffrage  in  our 
time — and  be  better  for  it.  I  have  never  been  opposed  to 
it — and  that  is  proof  enough  of  the  progress  the  idea  has 
made,  for  I  am  arbitrary  and  masculine  enough.  Then — 
now,  no  doubt — women  will  be  as  much  partners  as  wives, 
and  I  grant  the  relationship  might  be  vastly  more  interest 
ing  than  marriage  in  the  old  style.  And  I  will  even  con 
cede  that  it  may  be  the  only  sort  of  marriage  for  a  man  of 
my  type — with  a  pretty  woman,  of  course;  hanged  if  I 
could  marry  the  finest  woman  in  the  world  if  she  were 
jgly;  and  if  this  be  true — if  men  really  need  women 
enough  to  make  such  a  concession  as  I  am  making  this 
moment,  then  I  fancy  that  women  will  retain  enough  of 
their  original  generosity  to  meet  our  demands." 

"You  do  not  need  any  woman.  In  England  I  fancied 
that  your  mother  meant  a  great  deal  to  you,  but  I  don't 
believe  you  have  missed  her  at  all — or  that  you  will  mourn 
when  she  returns  to  England.  I  was  more  than  ready 
to  take  her  place;  you  actually  stirred  my  maternal  in 
stincts  when  you  arrived,  you  looked  so  forlorn.  But  you 
spurned  me,  and  now  you  have  grown  too  independent 
even  to  illustrate  your  own  theories." 

"I  did  not  spurn  you.  Some  day  I  may  tell  you  why 
I  did  not  come  to  you  in  my  dark  hours,  but  not  now." 

422 


A       N      C     _E S      T       O       R       S 

"Why  not  now?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  choose  to.  And  seductive  as  you 
look  I  am  not  to  be  made  a  fool  of  to  gratify  one  of  your 
whims — of  which  you  are  qu'te  as  full  as  the  least  emanci 
pated  woman  I  ever  saw." 

To  this  Isabel  deigned  no  reply,  and  a  silence  ensued. 
She  transferred  her  gaze  to  the  fire,  and  her  mind  revolved 
in  search  of  new  arguments,  but  it  was  tired  and  worked 
slowly.  She  concluded  to  change  the  subject  and  offer 
to  read  him  the  article  in  the  Review,  so  complimentary  to 
himself;  but  she  turned  her  head  to  discover  that  he  was 
sound  asleep. 

She  laughed,  half  vexed,  half  amused.  Then  she  laid 
a  rug  lightly  over  his  knees,  and  softly  replenished  the 
fire.  The  room  was  deliciously  warm,  her  own  chair  very 
comfortable.  She  too  fell  asleep. 

She  was  rudely  awakened.  Gwynne  was  shaking  her 
by  the  shoulder,  and  his  face  was  white  with  consternation. 

"Good  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  know  what 
time  it  is  ?  It  is  two  o'clock!  Why  did  you  let  me  sleep  ? 
Those  old  tabbies — " 

"They  must  be  asleep  too,"  said  Isabel,  indifferently. 
"Come  out,  and  I  will  hold  the  lantern  while  you  saddle 
Kaiser." 


XXVII 

MRS.  HAIGHTwas  hastily  putting  her  parlor  in  order 
for  the  "Ten  o'Clock  Five  Hundred  Club."  She 
was  without  a  servant,  having  had  four  hired  girls  and 
three  Japs  in  the  past  month;  during  the  last  three  days 
she  had  cooked  for  herseff  and  Mr.  Haight,  "done  all 
the  work,"  and  attended  seven  card  parties.  Mr.  Haight, 
who  had  not  had  his  dinner  the  night  before  until  nine 
o'clock,  and  whose  steak  this  morning  had  been  burned 
and  his  coffee  muddy,  had  gone  down-town  in  a  huff, 
threatening  to  move  to  the  hotel  unless  his  wife  found  a 
servant  or  her  sanity. 

Mrs.  Haight,  who  wore  a  red  flannel  wrapper  trimmed 
with  black  lace,  which  she  believed  became  her  style, 
shook  up  the  sofa-cushions  on  the  divan,  where  she  longed 
to  receive  her  guests  reclining  in  Oriental  voluptuousness, 
but  had  never  dared,  and  dusted  the  table  as  if  she  were 
slapping  an  enemy's  face.  The  bed  was  not  made,  nor 
likely  to  be  before  night,  and  she  too  knew  the  penalties 
of  burned  steak  and  bad  coffee,  enhanced  by  the  irritabil 
ity  of  the  insomniac.  She  had  her  redeeming  virtues,  no 
doubt;  all  have,  even  burglars  and  murderers,  until  they 
slip  into  the  region  of  pathology;  but  this  morning  she 
looked  and  felt  like  a  she-wolf;  and  few  mammals  are  so 
dangerous,  particularly  a  she-wolf  that  has  never  suckled 
young. 

424 


ANCESTORS 

Her  expected  guests  arrived  promptly,  glowing  with  the 
light  dry  cold,  some  wearing  furs  because  they  became 
the  season,  others  thin  cloth  jackets  over  their  shirt-waists. 
One  had  bundled  herself  into  a  broche  shawl  and  "run 
over"  hatless.  Each,  as  she  entered  the  parlor,  cast  a 
critical  eye  upon  the  silver  spoon  standing  in  lonely  glory 
on  the  mantel-piece,  and  nodded  or  scowled,  according  to 
her  bent.  Mrs.  Haight  was  far  too  cunning  to  detain  them 
from  the  tables  they  fairly  rushed  at  as  the  last  member 
arrived,  and  it  was  not  until  they  had  "scrapped'*  and 
wrestled  and  stormed  at  and  abused  each  other  for  at 
least  two  hours,  not  until  their  ugly  passions  were  in  full 
possession,  and  they  threw  down  their  cards  with  loud 
indignation  that  a  substitute  should  be  allowed  "to  com 
pete  for  a  prize,  anyhow" — the  substitute  having  won  the 
spoon — that  the  hostess,  with  the  peculiar  slow  fire  in  her 
eyes  that  marks  the  beast  of  prey  in  sight  of  its  quarry, 
suddenly  let  it  be  understood  that  the  high  tension  was,  to 
be  relieved  with  a  choice  bit  of  scandal.  It  was  some  time 
since  they  had  had  one;  propriety,  like  business  honesty, 
being  almost  inevitable  in  a  community  little  larger  than  a 
throne. 

Mrs.  Wheaton  exclaimed:  "Your  eyes  look  like  two 
burnt  holes  in  a  blanket,  Minerva.  What  is  it?  Hurry 
up.  I  must  run  home  and  supervise  a  new  Swede  that 
speaks  ten  words  of  English.  She  asked  me  if  I  wanted 
young  children  for  dinner.  I  suppose  she  meant  chickens, 
but  one  never  knows,  and  Anabel's  babies  are  just  over 
the  fence." 

"It's  this,  and  it's  no  joking  matter,  Sarah  Wheaton.  I 
saw  Mr.  Gwynne  pass  this  house  at  three  o'clock  this 
morning,  and  on  Isabel  Otis's  horse.  Now,  I  saw  him 

425 


ANCESTORS 

going  out  to  Old  Inn,  walking  before  sundown.  He  had 
plenty  of  time  to  say  what  he  had  to  say  and  get  home  at  a 
decent  hour — which  is  long  before  half-past  ten,  and  that's 
what  it's  been  many  a  night.  This  thing  has  become  a 
scandal  to  the  community,  and  I  for  one  won't  stand  it  any 
longer.  Its  downright  immoral,  and  I'm  not  using  too 
strong  language  purposely." 

"Oh  my!"  exclaimed  Dolly  Boutts.  "You  could  never 
make  me  believe  anything  against  Isabel.  He's  studying 
terribly  hard — the  judge  told  pa — and  likely  as  not  has 
insomnia.  Englishmen  are  so  terribly  dull  to  talk  to  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was  hard  work  for  them  to  learn 
anything." 

"Insomnia!"  cried  Mrs.  Haight.  "I  guess  I  have  in 
somnia  and  I  guess  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about. 
What  does  a  kid  like  you  know  of  the  wickedness  of  the 
world,  or  insomnia  either  ?  But  this  has  gone  just  as  far 
as  /  intend  to  permit  it." 

"It  certainly  looks  very  bad,  very  bad,"  muttered  Mrs. 
Wheaton,  whose  own  light  eyes  were  glowing.  "What 
steps  shall  you  take,  Minerva  ?  Or  what  should  you 
advise  me  to  do  ?  I  am  sorry  I  had  forgotten  the  girl.  I 
should  have  kept  the  eye  on  her  that  I  intended." 

"It's  a  matter  for  all,  not  for  any  one  of  us.  I  intend  to 
bring  it  up  at  the  Club  Meeting  this  afternoon,  and  I  ex 
pect  you  all  to  back  me,  f3r  the  thing's  a  disgrace  to  the 
community,  and  all  our  girls  will  be  talked  about.  In  my 
opinion  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  tell  her  to  leave  and  go 
and  live  in  that  hot-bed  of  wickedness,  San  Francisco." 

"Why  Minerva,  you're  a  regular  old  Puritan  witch- 
hunter!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Colton.  "You  never  could 
make  me  believe  that  child  had  any  harm  in  her — " 

426 


ANCESTOR       S 

"It  isn't  what  one  believes.  It's  what  is.  I  know.  I've 
studied  human  nature.  If  I  don't  know  anything  else  I 
know  that.  She'll  get  out  of  Rosewater,  or  I'll  hit  her  in 
her  weak  spot.  I'll  write  her  up  for  the  San  Francisco 
Illuminator.  They'd  give  hundreds,  and  they  can  have 
it  for  nothing — " 

''Why,  Minerva  Haight,  I'm  ashamed  of  you!"  cried 
Mrs.  Colton.  "It's  like  persecution,  and  you  have  no 
proof.  Why  should  you  know  more  of  the  world  than  we 
do,  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 

"I  do,  that's  all.  And  I  don't  see  her  doing  every 
mortal  thing  she  wants,  while  others  have  to  walk  a  chalked 
line  through  life.  It's  all  or  none.  That's  my  creed. 
She'll  soon  wilt  when  she  sees  we  mean  business — either 
go,  or  take  a  chaperon,  or  marry  the  man,  whichever  she 
prefers.  I  don't  care,  so  long  as  she  ain't  allowed  to  do  as 
she  pleases  and  no  questions  asked  and  no  penalty  paid. 
But  she'll  knuckle,  for  it's  my  opinion  she's  just  making 
money  to  spend  it  in  San  Francisco — cut  a  dash  there  like 
her  mother  did  before  her.  Probably  wants  to  become  a 
society  leader  and  have  a  string  of  lovers.  Nice  product  to 
hail  from  Rosewater.  I  think  she  ought  to  be  sent  back 
to  Europe  where  they  don't  mind  such  goings  on.  The 
things  you  do  read  about  the  English  aristocracy!  It's 
my  opinion  that  Lady  Victoria  ain't  any  better  than  she 
should  be.  She  looks  it — and  through  us,  just  as  if  we 
were  window-panes." 

"You  are  real  crude,  Minerva,"  said  Mrs.  Colton, 
crushingly,  as  she  rose  to  go.  "I  thought  Rosewater  was 
near  enough  to  the  metropolis  for  us  not  to  be  as  pro 
vincial  as  some  folks  farther  up  the  line,  who  haven't  the 
same  advantages/' 

*7  427 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

"I  guess  we're  all  crude  enough,  if  it  comes  to  that," 
retorted  Mrs.  Haight.  "I'd  like  to  know  what's  cruder 
than  a  man's  staying  at  a  girl's  house  till  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning — and  for  all  the  high  and  mighty  way  he 
carries  himself — and  him  the  born  image  of  Hi  Otis.  It's 
too  ridiculous.  I'd  like  to  bring  him  down  several  pegs, 
too." 

"He  bears  only  the  most  distant  resemblance  to  Hi 
Otis,"  said  Mrs.  Colton,  indignantly.  "I  never  could 
endure  Hi;  he  didn't  have  the  manners  of  a  car-conductor, 
and  this  young  man's  real  polite  and  kind,  besides  having 
a  much  more  high-toned  face.  I  don't  believe  you  can 
run  him  out,  either.  He  looks  the  kind  to  stay  or  go,  just 
as  suits  him.  And  I'd  advise  you  to  think  this  matter 
over  before  you  give  it  publicity.  I  might  go  out  and 
speak  to  Isabel  quietly— 

"Not  much  she  don't  get  off  as  easy  as  that!" 

Mrs.  Wheaton  nodded  approvingly.  "It's  a  case  for 
the  Club,"  said  she.  "We'll  talk  it  out  this  afternoon 
and  decide  what's  best  to  do." 

And  all  the  others,  save  Mrs.  Colton  and  the  loyal  Dolly, 
cordially  agreed  with  her. 


XXVIII 

THE  Rosewater  Literary,  Political,  and  Improvement 
Club  met  on  the  first  and  fourth  Thursdays  of  the 
month,  in  a  large  room  on  the  top  floor  of  the  Town  Hall, 
and  across  the  corridor  from  the  Public  Library.  Saving 
only  the  business  section  of  Rosewater,  rejuvenated  by 
the  fruitful  Leghorn,  there  was  no  such  centre  of  activity 
within  forty  miles.  Rosewater,  once  as  disreputable  as* 
San  Francisco  in  the  Fifties,  now  contributed  but  an 
occasional  drunkard  or  burglar  to  the  languid  powers  on 
the  first  floor  of  the  Town  Hall.  The  reading  public  was 
largely  confined  to  young  girls  with  the  taste  for  romance 
fresh  on  the  palate.  The  new  books  wandered  in  a  year 
after  the  rest  of  the  world  had  forgotten  them,  and  rarely 
in  couples.  One  copy  was  quite  able  to  quench  the  thirst 
for  "keeping  up,"  and  was  often  read  aloud  in  the  in 
tervals  between  cards.  The  standard  works  were  well 
represented,  however,  and  a  reasonable  amount  cf  his 
tory.  "All  Rosewater's  good  for,"  quoth  one  of  the  biting 
wits  of  St.  Peter,  "is  to  die  in.  If  you're  born  there  people 
never  forget  it;  it  sticks  to  you  like  a  strawberry  mark  on 
the  end  of  your  nose.  And  if  you  live  there  you  might  as 
well  be  dead,  anyhow."  Rosewater  retorted  that  if  St. 
Peter  had  a  better  library  it  was  because  she  had  noth 
ing  else  to  do  than  read,  and,  for  all  its  court-house,  was 

4*9 


ANCESTORS 

nothing  but  a  suburb  of  Rosewater,   anyway;  or  at  the 
best  a  mere  headquarters  for  drummers. 

On  the  afternoon  following  Mrs.  Haight's  card-party  the 
large  sunny  room  with  its  outlook  upon  marsh  and  hill  was 
filled  promptly  at  two  o'clock;  for  the  word  had  flown 
about  town  that  Minerva  Haight  was  on  the  war-path  and 
that  the  scalp  she  pursued  was  Isabel  Otis's.  The  Presi 
dent,  as  she  rapped  for  order,  betrayed  no  ruffling  of  the 
humorous  imperturbability  that  had  made  her  a  power  \n 
Rosewater.  Mrs.  Leslie,  although  of  "the  old  Southern 
set"  of  San  Francisco,  had  none  of  the  external  elegances 
of  Mrs.  Wheaton,  Mrs.  Boutts  and  Dolly,  or  even  of  her 
own  daughter.  She  was  generally  to  be  seen  in  a  rusty 
black  frock  and  bonnet,  a  pair  of  eye-glasses  in  black 
frames  bestriding  the  bridge  of  her  nose.  But  her  eyes 
were  very  black  and  bright,  her  mouth  was  as  firm  as  it  was 
kind  and  humorous.  Beside  her  sat  the  Treasurer,  Mrs. 
Wheaton,  whom  Mrs.  Leslie  understood  as  thoroughly  as 
she  did  every  member  of  the  flock  that  was  really  hers, 
although  in  matters  of  mere  society  she  disdained  to  lead 
it.  Mrs.  Wheaton,  for  all  her  petty  airs  and  evil-scenting 
profile,  was  really  a  woman  of  high  ideals.  Her  severity 
to  others  was  due  to  the  secret  knowledge  that  these 
ideals  were  beyond  her  personal  accomplishment,  and  the 
satisfaction  to  be  derived  from  audibly  rating  the  failings 
of  her  neighbors.  Her  highest  ideal  was  self-control,  par 
ticularly  in  relation  to  the  weaknesses  of  the  flesh;  but  after 
a  period  of  stern  abstinence,  she  indulged  inordinately  in 
oysters,  fried  chicken  with  cream  gravy,  and  ice-cream 
with  cocoanut  cake;  and  sipped  a  night-cap  upon  retiring. 
Her  passion  for  cards  had  long  since  routed  her  will;  but 
she  intended  to  reform  wholly  in  time,  for  she  walked  in 

430 


A_     NCESTORS 

fear  of  the  Lord.  If  she  judged  the  young  harshly,  she 
persuaded  herself  that  she  had  only  their  well-being  at 
heart.  She  was  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  church  and  gave 
liberally  to  its  support. 

Mrs.  Haight,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  enjoyed  one  of  those 
purely  fortuitous  reputations  for  cleverness,  was  Secretary 
of  the  combined  wings  of  the  Club,  and  sat  on  Mrs. 
Leslie's  left.  Mrs,  Wheaton's  portly  person  was  sheathed 
in  purple  velvet,  and  there  were  handsome  strings  between 
two  of  her  chins,  but  Mrs.  Haight  wore  a  battered  hat 
of  Neapolitan  straw  bedecked  with  a  ragged  bunch  of 
carnations.  It  sat  on  one  side  of  her  ill-kept  head,  giv 
ing  her  a  singularly  rakish  and  definite  appearance.  She 
was  furthermore  attired  in  an  old  Paisley  shawl  belong 
ing  to  her  grandmother — what  better  way  to  advertise  a 
grandmother  ? — over  a  blue  alpaca  frock  made  by  her  own 
unskilful  fingers.  Mr.  Haight  was  the  most  prosperous 
druggist  in  Rosewater,  but  his  wife  had  sounding  virtues. 

The  other  members  of  the  Club,  some  sixty  in  number, 
were  as  variously  dressed  as  became  their  pockets  or 
proclivities,  decently  for  the  most  part,  for  there  was  no 
poverty  in  Rosewater.  Mrs.  Leslie  took  no  notice  of  the 
charged  atmosphere,  but  proceeded  to  business  as  me 
thodically  as  if  engaged  in  her  morning  housekeeping. 
The  minutes  of  the  last  meeting  were  read  by  Mrs.  Haight, 
in  the  cultivated  tones  of  one  who  had  recited  upon  the 
stage  of  her  youth,  "Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night,"  and 
"The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus."  The  huskily  strident 
voice  trembled  slightly,  but  she  read  several  pages  of 
foolscap  without  a  break,  and  finished  with  a  flourish. 
Then  Mrs.  Leslie,  in  spite  of  scraping  chairs,  asked  Mrs. 
Colton,  Chairman  of  the  Improvement  Inspection  Com- 

43 * 


ANCESTORS 

mittee  to  read  her  report  on  the  condition  of  the  new 
concrete  pavements,  of  several  homesick  palm-trees  in  the 
public  squares,  and  on  the  prospect  of  removing  tin  cans 
and  soda  -  water  bottles  from  the  picnic  grounds.  This 
resort  was  near  the  marsh,  and  it  was  the  pet  project  of  the 
ladies  of  Rosewater  to  extend  it  into  a  boulevard  as  far  as 
Point  Santiago,  so  that  "public  picnickers"  should  find  an 
additional  reason  for  spending  their  money  in  Rosewater, 
and  extend  the  fame  of  the  town.  They  had  endeavored 
to  extract  the  funds  from  their  stingy  lords  by  private  sub 
scription,  failing  an  appeal  to  the  City  Fathers,  who  found 
other  uses  for  the  public  funds;  but  even  the  civic  Mr. 
Boutts  was  not  ready  for  such  an  outlay.  The  women — 
who  had  accomplished  so  much,  having  literally  trans 
formed  Rosewater  from  a  broken-down  pioneer  country 
town  into  one  of  the  prettiest  spots  in  California — had  by 
no  means  despaired;  and  when  Mrs.  Colton  finished  her 
report,  Mrs.  Leslie  remarked: 

"Our  boulevard  may  be  nearer  than  you  think.  Mr. 
Gwynne  has  conceived  a  project  for  reclaiming  the  marsh 
lands,  and  converting  them,  by  means  of  levees  and  those 
tremendous  dredges  and  pumps,  into  arable  land — like 
the  reclaimed  islands  of  the  San  Joaquin  River;  and  has 
persuaded  Tom  Colton  to  present  a  bill  to  that  effect  at 
the  next  meeting  of  the  legislature — asking  for  an  appro 
priation  for  the  levees,  at  least.  He  has  himself  promised 
a  handsome  contribution  for  the  boulevard,  convinced 
that  it  will  add  materially  to  the  wealth  and  importance  of 
the  town.  He  has  even  talked  over  Mr.  Boutts — an  im 
portant  conversion" — nodding  smilingly  at  Mrs.  Boutts — 
"and  Isabel  Otis,  who  has  forty-five  acres  of  marsh,  has 
promised  that  if  the  bill  goes  through  she  will  also  con- 

432 


ANCESTOR    _S 

tribute  a  thousand  dollars.  She  not  only  realized  at  once 
that  the  boulevard  would  bring  more  capital  to  Rosewater, 
but  she  means  to  sow  the  reclaimed  land  with  asparagus 
— and  we  all  know  the  profit  in  that.  Her  attitude  and 
comprehension  of  the  matter  have  gratified  me  extremely, 
almost  as  much  as  her  continued  residence  in  Rosewater 
after  all  her  fine  experiences  abroad;  to  say  nothing  of 
engaging  personally  in  a  lucrative  business  instead  of 
playing  with  it  and  leaving  the  actual  work  to  dishonest 
help.  She  is  an  example  I  wish  more  of  our  young  women 
would  follow.  But  as  regards  Mr.  Gwynne:  I  think  he 
deserves  a  vote  of  thanks.  He  comes  here  a  total  stranger 
with  an  immense  estate,  from  which  he  could  derive  a 
sufficient  income  for  his  pleasures,  and  he  has  already 
devoted  a  considerable  amount  of  his  time  and  splendid 
mental  abilities  to  the  welfare  of  this  little  town.  A  few 
of  our  older  men  have  some  public  spirit,  an  idea  or  two 
beyond  lining  their  pockets,  but  we  do  not  boast  a  single 
young  man  who  cares  whether  we  have  camellias  or 
cabbages  in  the  public  squares.  I  feel  sure  that  Mr. 
Gwynne  will  supply  this  deficiency  and  be  a  host  in  him 
self.  I  have  talked  with  him  several  times,  and  he  has 
said,  in  so  many  words,  that  as  he  intends  to  make  this 
county  his  home  he  purposes  to  accomplish  something  in 
the  way  of  general  improvement.  This  means  that  he 
will,  for  my  husband  says  that  he  not  only  has  remark 
able  mind  and  will,  but  that  he  is  a  young  man  of  incor 
ruptible  honor — and  I  know  of  no  combination  that  we 
need  more.  So,  ladies,  I  propose  that  we  pass  a  vote  of 
thanks  to  Mr.  Gwynne,  thus  not  only  showing  our  ap 
preciation  of  his  interest,  but  securing  his  friendship  for 
the  Club." 

433 


ANCESTORS 

Mrs.  Haight  rose,  sallow  and  trembling.  She  felt  her 
sails  flapping  about  her,  but  none  the  less  was  she  de 
termined  to  reach  her  goal  if  she  had  to  get  out  and  swim. 
She  knew  the  President  well  enough  to  control  the  hissing 
of  her  venom,  but  as  she  turned  to  address  the  chair  she 
found  it  impossible  to  imbue  her  tones  with  the  suavity 
proper  in  a  baleful  counsel  for  the  prosecution. 

"Mrs.  President, Ladies!"  she  began,  clearing  her  throat. 
"  Before  passing  a  vote  of  thanks  to  Mr.  Gwynne  I  think 
it  my  duty  to  ask  you  dispassionately  if  you  really  think 
he  is  a  person  from  whom  we  can  afford  to  receive  favors. 
And  above  all,  if  Isabel  Otis  should  be  permitted  any 
sort  of  contact  with  the  Club  she  has  scornfully  refused 
to  join.  That  is  not  the  point,  however.  The  point  is 
that  I  maintain  that  neither  of  them  is  fit  for  respectable 
people  to  associate  with."  She  felt  that  her  summary  was 
precipitate,  and  drawing  herself  up  defiantly  looked  hard 
at  Mrs.  Leslie.  The  President  was  regarding  her  impas 
sively. 

"Why  not  ?"  she  asked. 

"Because!  As  you  force  me  to  say  it,  Mr.  Gwynne  is 
out  at  Old  Inn  until  all  hours  of  the  night.  I  have  seen 
him  riding  home  as  late  as  half-past  ten  again  and  again. 
And  I  happen  to  know  that  before  that  Lady  Victoria 
came,  they  were  practically  alone  in  the  house  on  Russian 
Hill  one  whole  night.  Mrs.  Filkins,  as  you  know,  lives 
on  Taylor  Street,  and  she  saw  Paula  Stone  pass  her  house 
in  the  afternoon  looking  as  mad  as  a  hornet — she  was  sure 
she  wasn't  going  back,  and  found  out  afterwards  that 
she  hadn't;  and  she  saw  Mr.  Gwynne  come  down  those 
steps  at  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning — going  to  catch 
the  seven-thirty  boat — looking  as  pleased  with  himself  as 

434 


ANCESTORS 

Punch.  But  I  might  have  stood  all  that  for  a  while  yet; 
I  might  have  given  Isabel  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  since 
she  had  asked  Paula  to  chaperon  her,  and  might  have  found 
out  too  late  that  she  had  gone — for  she  was  gallivant 
ing  herself  all  day;  I  might  have  overlooked  his  staying 
so  often  till  ten-thirty — although  I  maintain  that  an  un 
married  girl  living  alone  on  a  ranch  without  even  female 
help  is  a  disgrace  to  any  community — yes,  I  might  have 
swallowed  that  for  a  while  longer;  but  this  morning — at 
three  o'clock — I  saw — with  my  own  eyesy  ladles — Mr. 
Gwynne  riding  home  from  Old  Inn  on  Isabel  Otis's  sorrel 
horse  Kaiser.  Now  I,  for  one,  don't  stand  for  such  goings 
on.  I  propose  that  instead  of  passing  a  vote  of  thanks  to 
Mr.  Gwynne  we  pass  a  resolution  to  cut  both  of  them,  and 
show  them  what  a  decent  community  is." 

She  sat  down  in  her  flounces,  and  Mrs.  Wheaton  rose 
and  seconded  the  motion.  The  others  looked  rather 
frightened,  although  alert  and  interested,  and  Mrs.  Colton 
rose  hastily  and  proposed  that  before  putting  such  a 
momentous  question  to  the  vote,  the  whole  matter  should 
be  thoroughly  investigated. 

"We  must  also  have  the  advice  of  our  President,"  she 
added.  "For  my  part,  although  I  do  not  approve  of 
young  unmarried  women  living  alone,  still  I  cannot  believe 
such  dreadful  things  of  anybody,  let  alone  Isabel  Otis. 
I  am  glad  Anabel  is  not  here.  She  would  never  listen  to 
any  insinuation  against  Isabel,  and  might  be  tempted  to 
disrespect  of  her  elders." 

"And  you,  Mrs.  Boutts  ?"  asked  the  President. 

"As  a  woman  of  the  world  I  have  not  that  implicit  faith 
in  human  nature  that  some  people  are  still  so  happy  as 
to  cherish.  My  daughter — who  refused  to  come  to-day, 

435 


ANCESTOR       S 

knowing  the  subject  to  be  (liscussei — is  indignant  at  these 
reports;  but  of  course  she  is  a  mere  child,  and  very  much 
fascinated  by  Miss  Otis.  I  do  not  by  any  means  approve 
of  the  drastic  methods  proposed  by  Mrs.  Haight — I  should 
hope  that  California  had  taken  some  of  the  old  puritanical 
spirit  out  of  us — but  I  do  think  that  Miss  Otis  should  be 
given  to  understand  that  she  cannot  import  European 
fashions  into  Rosewater,  and  that  she  must  have  a  chap 
eron.  Let  her  feel  that  she  has  acted  unwisely,  at  the 
very  least,  by  not  inviting  her  to  any  of  the  young  peo 
ple's  gatherings  in  the  future." 

"As  there  are  no  more  except  for  card-playing,  and  as 
she  has  recently  been  the  only  hostess  at  an  evening  party 
the  town  has  boasted  for  two  years,  your  virtuous  wrath 
bids  fair  to  blow  past  her  unheeded.  Mrs.  Plews,  will 
you  address  us  ?" 

Mrs.  Plews  was  the  wife  of  the  pastor  of  the  aristocratic 
Episcopalian  church,  a  pretty  fluffy  young  woman,  who 
visited  the  sick  and  made  excellent  ice-cream  for  the  church 
festivals.  "Oh,  I  don't  know!"  she  exclaimed,  deprecat- 
ingly.  "It  is  all  too  dreadful!  I  no  longer  regret  that 
Miss  Otis  does  not  come  to  church.  I  had  thought  of 
remonstrating  with  her  once  more — but  when  I  recalled 
the  last  time!  Now,  it  is  indeed  well  that  she  has  not  been 
associating  with  our  young  folks.  I  am  sorry  this  was  not 
known  before  her  party;  I  must  really  talk  to  Mr.  Plews 
before  I  can  say  anything  further." 

"Mrs.  Toffitt,  I  am  sure  that  you  have  something  to 
say — and  an  opinion  of  your  own." 

Mrs.  Toffitt,  a  buxom  highly  colored  woman  of  forty, 
who,  since  her  husband's  death,  the  year  before,  had  con 
tinued  his  business — a  general  feed  store — with  striking 

'  436 


ANCESTORS 

success,  and  who  was  one  of  the  most  popular  women 
in  Rosewater,  with  her  abounding  good-nature,  her  high 
spirits,  and  her  utter  independence  of  speech,  sprang  to 
her  feet. 

"  I  have  this  to  say,'*  she  cried.  "  For  a  lot  of  puritanical, 
prying,  spying,  detestable  old  hens,  we  take  the  cake. 
Isabel  Otis  minds  her  own  business.  Why,  in  heaven's 
name,  can't  we  mind  ours  ?  Does  she  owe  anybody  any 
thing  ?  Has  she  taken  anybody's  beau  away  ?  Anybody's 
husband  ?  Does  she  walk  the  streets  doing  nothing  but 
show  herself,  or  go  buggy  riding  with  one  fellow  after  an- 
other?  Does  she  ever  refuse  money  for  charity,  or  for 
our  improvements  when  it's  asked  of  her  ?  Was  she  a 
credit  to  the  town  with  her  record  at  the  High  School,  or 
wasn't  she  ?  Are  we  proud  of  her  travels  in  Europe,  her 
high-toned  connections,  her  business  sense,  the  way  she 
acted  to  that  old  reprobate  of  a  father,  or  ain't  we  ?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know.  And  she's  got  real  intellect  in 
stead  of  just  the  average  American  brightness;  that's  the 
secret  of  the  whole  trouble.  What  if  she  does  sit  up  all 
night  talking  to  a  man  who's  got  something  besides  chick 
ens  and  dollars  in  his  head  ?  I'd  do  the  same  if  I  had 
the  chance.  Just  make  a  note  of  that.  If  Mr.  Gwynne 
likes  to  transfer  his  attentions  to  me  I'll  sit  up  all 
night  right  on  Minerva  Haight's  doorstep,  and  talk  about 
any  old  thing  he  wants.  If  I  was  as  young  and  handsome 
as  Isabel  Otis  I'd  keep  the  best  man  going  to  myself,  bet 
your  life  on  it!  And  I  repeat,  it's  nobody's  business." 
She  whirled  upon  the  pallid  Minerva  with  a  flaming 
face,  "Nice  business  you're  in — sitting  at  your  window 
all  night  watching  for  other  people's  slips.  You'd  make 
one  fast  enough  if  the  Lord  would  let  you,  and  that's 

437 


ANCESTORS 

what's  the  matter  with  you.  Now,  put  that  in  your  pipe 
and  smoke  it." 

She  sat  down  amid  much  laughter  and  applause.  Mrs. 
Leslie  rapped  vigorously  for  order,  although  her  mouth 
was  twitching. 

"Now,  ladies,"  she  said,  suavely,  "if  you  have  all  re 
lieved  your  minds  I  will  say  a  few  words.  First  of  all,  I 
wish  to  state  that  I  shall  refuse  to  put  the  matter  to  a 
vote.  It  is  a  question  that  does  not  come  within  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Club,  which  was  not  organized  to 
supervise  morals  as  well  as  streets  and  sewers.  You  can 
all  act  towards  Isabel  and  Mr.  Gwynne  exactly  as  your 
consciences  dictate,  but  for  my  own  part,  I  have  this  to 
say:  I  am  astonished  to  find  that  the  Club  life,  a  life  which 
women  the  world  over  have  prided  themselves  upon  as 
the  greatest  factor  in  broadening  and  elevating  that  their 
sex  has  ever  known,  seems  to  have  done,  in  our  case  at 
least,  so  little  to  eradicate  certain  Oriental  instincts  and 
traditions.  The  cities  are  full  of  young  women  living  alone, 
and  self-supporting.  Why  should  not  a  girl  have  the  same 
privilege  in  the  country  ?  Because  she  is  handsome  and 
distinguished  ?  I  fancy  that  a  good  many  girls  in  anal 
ogous  circumstances  are  passing  unnoticed.  I  have  not 
the  least  doubt  that  a  very  respectable  percentage  of  very 
respectable  young  women,  living  alone  in  their  city  flats, 
sit  up  late  and  talk  to  men  that  are  interesting  enough  to 
keep  them  awake.  I  am  quite  sure  that  were  I  young  in 
these  emancipated  times  I  should  take  full  advantage  of 
them.  And  emancipated  is  what  we  pretend  to  be — al 
though  the  word  itself  is  somewhat  outmoded;  a  healthy 
sign,  proving  that  we  are  no  longer  labelled.  And  if  that 
does  not  mean  personal  liberty,  freedom  from  the  old 

438 


ANCESTORS 

ridiculous  restrictions  that  were  an  insult  to  womanhood 
itself,  what  does  it  mean  ?  It  is  a  part  of  our  mission  to 
make  woman  as  free  and  independent  and  happy  as  men, 
and  without  the  slightest  danger  to  the  old  high  moral 
standards;  for  no  woman  that  has  had  it  in  her  to  go  wrong 
ever  waited  for  the  permission  of  her  own  sex.  We  are, 
in  fact,  we  Club  Women,  the  great  sieve  that  separates 
the  wheat  from  the  chaff;  the  chaff  has  no  more  use  for 
us  than  we  have  for  it,  and  we  are  too  wise  in  our  own 
sex  to  waste  any  time  on  it.  The  women  that  were  born  to 
be  the  playthings  of  men  are  in  a  class  apart — to  be  dealt 
with,  to  be  sure,  by  Societies  organized  for  and  experien  d 
in  that  purpose;  and  we  have  not  even  considered  them  in 
the  stupendous  effort  wre  have  made  to  secure  the  freedom 
of  the  higher  order  of  women  from  the  old  miserable 
social  thralidoms.  And  what  we  have  accomplished  is 
historic. 

"I  have  seen  extraordinary  changes  in  my  time.  When 
I  wras  young  a  woman  was  an  old  maid  at  twenty-five. 
There  was  no  appeal.  To-day  there  are  no  old  maids. 
Twenty  years  ago,  in  that  old  exclusive  set  of  San  Fran 
cisco  led  by  Mrs.  Yorba,  Mrs.  Montgomery,  and  for  a  little 
while  by  poor  Mary  Belmont,  it  was  almost  unheard  of 
for  a  girl  of  the  better  class  to  walk  alone  on  the  street. 
If  a  man  joined  her  the  city  fermented.  Now,  what  with 
the  influx  of  all  these  new  people,  the  social  laws  have  been 
modified  to  such  an  extent  that  my  old  friends  must  turn 
in  their  graves;  although,  of  course,  and  very  properly,  a 
certain  amount  of  chaperonage  for  young  society  girls  is 
still  demanded.  But  it  is  a  mere  harness  of  flowers,  worn 
as  a  sort  of  a  joke  for  most  of  the  people  in  society  to-day 
have  flown  upward  on  happy  golden  wings  from  strata 

439 


ANCESTOR    J? 

where  as  much  was  known  of  chaperons  as  the  American 
newspapers  know  about  handling  British  titles.  But,  for 
my  part,  I  find  the  whole  change  a  vast  improvement. 
Nothing  could  be  duller  than  a  girl's  life  in  my  time.  And 
if  society — the  world  of  mere  fashion — has  broadened, 
how  much  more  should  be  expected  of  us,  who  are  the 
vanguard  of  our  sex  ?  who  have  set  out  to  free  women 
from  every  sort  of  senseless  bondage  they  had  endured  for 
centuries,  and  no  more  from  the  tyranny  of  the  physically 
stronger  sex  than  through  their  own  silliness  and  cowardice. 
"We  are  struggling  to  enfranchise  our  sex.  We  would 
^  to  try  our  hand  at  regulating  the  affairs  of  the  nation. 
Here,  in  these  smaller  towns,  all  over  the  country,  we  have 
proved  a  far  greater  power  for  improvements  of  all  sorts 
than  men.  Rosewater  owes  to  us,  and  to  us  alone,  its 
beautifully  paved  and  shaded  streets — we  have  no  dif 
ficulty  in  remembering  what  a  barren  mud-hole  it  was — 
the  trees  that  shade  the  poor  horses  at  the  hitching-rails; 
the  beautiful  squares,  the  tropical  plants  and  trees,  the 
improved  sewerage  system,  the  cleanliness  of  the  marsh 
border,  everything  in  fact  that  has  transformed  Rosewater 
from  a  mere  set  of  roofs  and  walls  into  a  delightfully 
habitable  town.  Moreover,  we  have  raised  both  the 
moral  and  the  intellectual  tone,  for  although  I  at  least  have 
always  discouraged  too  much  interest  in  people's  private 
affairs,  the  higher  interests,  and  the  increased  intimacy 
among  women,  have  done  much  to  keep  them  out  of  mis 
chief.  Until  this  card  fever  descended  upon  the  town, 
it  was  generally  regarded  as  occupying  a  high  place  among 
communities  of  its  size.  Cards,  however,  I  regard  as  a 
passing  madness;  it  merely  means  that  even  yet  we  have 
not  enough  to  do. 

440 


ANCESTORS 

"  And — so  it  seems! — in  spite  of  all  that  we  have  ac 
complished,  in  spite  of  our  long  and  ofttimes  dishearten 
ing  struggle  to  lift  ourselves  above  the  average  female 
woman,  we  are  as  ready  to  tear  reputations  to  pieces  as 
ever,  to  judge  by  mere  appearances,  to  discount  general 
character  and  behavior,  to  forget  our  ideals  and  give  un 
licensed  rein  to  the  mean  and  detestable  qualities  we  still 
cherish  in  common  with  the  mass  of  unenlightened  women. 
I  do  not  assert  that  I  have  never  heard  gossip  from  men; 
but  it  has  always  been  from  the  men  that  spend  their  lives 
in  Club  windows,  never  from  men  that  had  some  better 
way  of  filling  their  time.  From  my  husband  I  have  never 
heard  a  scurrilous  word  of  any  one,  and  he  has  a  temper  of 
his  own,  too.  Now,  so  far  as  I  can  make  out,  we  have  not 
only  been  trying  to  usurp  the  time-honored  prerogatives  of 
men,  but  to  attain  their  highest  standards.  While  I  dep 
recate  violence  of  statement,  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with 
Mrs.  Toffitt  that  a  woman  belonging  to  this  Club,  a  Club 
which  stands  high  in  the  Club  life  of  the  State,  should  have 
something  better  to  do  than  to  spend  the  night  at  her 
window  spying  on  her  neighbors.  If  she  cannot  sleep  she 
can  improve  her  mind  or  sew  for  the  poor.  If  a  man  en- 
gaged  in  such  nefarious  night  work  and  brazenly  ad 
mitted  it,  I  will  venture  to  say  that  his  Club,  or  his  Lodge, 
at  all  events,  would  ask  for  his  resignation.  It  would  be 
quite  in  order  with  our  avowed  principles  that  we  repri 
manded  Mrs.  Haight  instead  of  Miss  Otis,  but  we  will  let 
the  matter  pass  this  time  with  a  mere  hint.  One  point  is, 
by-the-way,  that  the  latter  not  being  a  member  of  the 
Club  it  would  be  the  height  of  impertinence  to  take  her  to 
task.  But  in  any  case  I  personally  refuse  even  to  con 
sider  the  question  of  anything  being  otherwise  with  her 

441 


ANCESTORS 

than  it  should  be.  There  is,  no  doubt,  some  wholly  com 
monplace  explanation  of  Mr.  Gwynne's  passing  through 
Rosewater  on  her  horse  this  morning.  As  for  their  con 
stant  companionship,  what  more  natural  ?  They  are 
closely  related,  and  she  has  been  a  very  necessary  sister  to 
him.  Nevertheless,  I  shall  make  it  my  unpleasant  busi 
ness  to  tell  her  that  we  are  still  the  same  old  females,  still 
incapable  of  conceiving  of  aught  but  one  relationship  be 
tween  unmarried  members  of  opposite  sexes,  that  our  im 
aginations  and  our  positive  knowledge  of  life  are  alike 
undeveloped.  Then  she  can  take  a  chaperon  or  not  as 
she  pleases.  She  will  always  be  welcome  in  my  house; 
and  as  for  my  daughter,  she  will  only  laugh  at  this  tempest 
of  her  elders  in  a  tea-pot.  That  is  all  I  have  to  say." 

She  finished  amid  much  applause,  some  shamefaced, 
some  hearty,  but  there  were  a  number  of  lowering  brows. 
When  adjournment  was  declared  a  few  moments  later, 
she  left  at  once,  but  the  others  remained  to  talk  the  matter 
over.  The  ingrained  love  of  finding  our  sister  worse  than 
ourselves  is  not  to  be  eradicated  by  a  few  years  of  Club  life, 
and  although  the  majority  decided  that  Mrs.  Leslie  was 
quite  in  the  right,  several  announced  their  intention  to  cut 
Isabel  Otis.  There  was  no  informal  resolution  taken  to 
ignore  the  matter,  and,  on  the  whole,  Mrs.  Haight  went 
home  with  her  crest  up,  and  Mrs.  Wheaton  fasted  for 
three  days. 


XXIX 

MRS.  LESLIE  was  a  brave  woman,  but  when  the 
judge  suggested  that  it  would  be  better  for  him  to 
talk  the  matter  over  with  Gwynne,  obtain  his  explanation, 
and  delicately  hint  the  attitude  of  the  town,  she  was  noth 
ing  loath  to  renounce  her  mission.  "The  dear  child,"  the 
friends  of  her  mother  all  remembered,  had  once  possessed 
a  temper  that  only  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  her  life 
had  chastened,  and  they  had  an  uneasy  suspicion  that  it 
still  smouldered  beneath  the  well-bred  insolence  with  which 
she  had  so  far  received  much  friendly  advice. 

By  this  time — mid-December  was  nigh — the  judge  and 
Gwynne  had  discussed  many  subjects  besides  the  law. 
Mrs.  Leslie,  whose  hospitable  instincts  were  too  deep  to 
be  blighted  even  by  the  servant  question,  had  placed  a 
room  at  Gwynne's  disposal  to  be  used  when  it  rained,  or 
he  talked  so  late  with  the  judge  that  the  long  ride  home 
was  not  worth  while.  He  dined  with  them  several  times  a 
week,  and  found  both  these  simple  old-fashioned  people  de 
lightful.  And  with  Judge  Leslie,  alone  of  all  his  neighbors, 
could  he  discuss  the  affairs  of  the  great  world,  get  away 
from  the  politics  and  the  small  local  interests  that  aborbed 
every  other  man  in  Rosewater.  Moreover,  Judge  Leslie 
was  well  acquainted  with  his  past  career  and  often  mani 
fested  a  keen  desire  for  details.  Gwynne  was  not  sure 
that  these  lapses  were  good  for  him,  but  certainly  it  was 
28  443 


A       N      C       E       S       T       0       R       S 

pleasant,  stretched  out  there  by  the  big  fireplace  in  an 
old  room  full  of  books,  English  for  the  most  part,  to  talk 
of  himself  and  his  achievements.  Isabel  rarely  referred 
to  his  past,  never  encouraged  him  to  talk  about  it.  His 
mother  had  become  as  silent  as  a  mummy;  old  man  Col- 
ton  might  have  lost  his  memory,  and  for  Tom  Cotton  Brit 
ish  politics  had  no  existence. 

But  Judge  Leslie  understood  and  had  much  sympathy 
for  his  pupil — possibly  believed  in  the  virtue  of  the  safety- 
valve.  Certainly  Gwynne  invariably  went  to  bed  after 
these  long  talks  content  in  mind  and  body;  and  the  next 
day  he  was  far  too  busy  to  trot  out  his  ego  and  sit  down 
with  it.  And  his  mind  at  least  was  happy  in  its  new  sense 
of  expansion  and  acquisition,  its  increasing  and  developing 
powers.  His  studies  had  the  further  effect  of  moderating 
the  purely  personal  viewpoint  of  the  United  States  that  had 
tormented  him,  and  of  enabling  him  to  withdraw  far 
enough  to  command  glimpses  of  the  New  World  as  a  great 
abstraction.  And  his  contacts  with  the  strange  medley 
of  small  farmers  and  mechanics,  with  local  politicians  in 
back  offices  and  saloons,  even  his  acquaintance  with  the 
San  Franciscans  that  were  attempting  to  reclaim  that 
bawdy  borough,  did  not  affect  the  universal  idea  he  had  at 
last  succeeded  in  focussing.  He  had  cast  out  disgust 
and  disapproval  as  youthful  and  unphilosophical,  resolved 
anew  to  play  his  part  in  the  history  of  the  country,  letting 
the  unborn  events  of  his  term  of  enforced  quiescence  de 
termine  what  the  part  must  be.  He  had  not  yet  reached 
the  stage  of  enthusiasm,  but  he  had  at  least  mounted  to 
that  of  interest;  and  he  had  even  caught  himself  wondering 
if,  should  a  law  pass  in  Great  Britain,  reducing  the  House 
of  Peers  to  an  elective  body,  or  permitting  peers  of  his 

444 


A       NCESTORS 

grade  to  sit  in  the  House  of  Commons,  he  would  return  ? 
There  was  little  doubt  that  there  was  more  good  to  be 
accomplished  in  the  new  country. 

His  English  great-great-grandfather  had  been  histori 
cally  active  in  the  reforms  of  1832;  a  great-uncle  had  de 
voted  his  services  to  the  passing  of  the  Reform  Act  of  1867; 
and  a  cousin  to  the  Corrupt  Practices  Act  of  1883.  Reform 
was  in  his  blood,  and  as,  after  all,  the  United  States  was  as 
much  his  own  as  Great  Britain,  he  hoped  in  time  to  feel  for 
it  the  same  passion  of  affection  he  had  cherished  for  the 
country  that  had  given  him  fame  and  honors  with  both 
hands.  And  he  knew  that  his  other  hope  of  being  of 
practical  service  to  the  United  States  in  accordance  with 
his  own  ideal  was  no  idle  dream,  for  it  was  quite  ap 
parent  from  the  newspapers  and  reviews  that  the  best 
men  all  over  the  country  were  awake  at  last  to  the  perils 
besetting  the  Republic,  and  that  a  bloodless  revolution 
was  slowly  making  its  way  over  the  country.  He  had 
unmitigated  contempt  for  the  revolutionist  of  the  red 
shirt,  insatiable  for  the  notoriety  so  easily  obtained  by 
appealing  to  the  passions  of  men  a  shade  more  ignorant 
than  himself;  no  blood  revolution  was  possible  in  the 
United  States  during  its  present  condition  of  prosperity. 
No  country  can  be  universally  roused  to  revolt  with  any 
weapons  more  deadly  than  words  until  it  has  long  felt  the 
pinch  of  hunger  in  its  vitals,  and  watched  millions  starve 
while  hundreds  consumed  the  fat  of  the  land.  No  doubt 
there  was  grinding  poverty  in  the  crowded  tenement  dis 
tricts  of  the  Eastern  States,  but  those  men  were  not  the 
stuff  of  which  revolutionists  were  made,  if  only  because 
they  deliberately  elected  the  rigors  of  the  town  rather  than 
supply  the  crying  demand  for  labor  and  servants  through- 

445 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

out  the  country.  It  was  only  the  idle  that  foregathered 
and  talked  anarchism  or  even  socialism;  not  those  that 
cared  to  work. 

Here  in  California  there  was  practically  no  such  thing 
as  poverty,  or  if  there  was,  the  pauper,  if  fairly  able  of  body, 
should  be  set  up  in  a  public  pillory.  With  a  scale  of  wages 
the  highest  in  the  world,  a  corresponding  cheapness  of 
every  necessity  of  life,  with  the  bare  exception  of  coal, 
needed  in  excess  during  one  short  season  of  the  twelve 
month,  sun  for  eight  unbroken  months,  and  a  soil  so  fertile 
that  in  many  places  it  yielded  two  crops  a  year,  there  would 
have  been  no  discontent  had  it  not  been  for  the  rapacity  of 
labor  unions,  and  the  systematic  agitations  of  men  like 
Tom  Colton.  In  every  human  heart  there  is  the  germ  of 
discontent,  no  matter  what  the  conditions,  but  Gwynne 
recognized  the  possibility  of  diverting  this  uneasy  parasite 
from  imaginary  personal  grievances  to  the  public  good, 
to  measures  which  would  benefit  the  mass,  subtly  elevating 
man's  opinion  of  himself  in  the  process,  and  so  taking 
the  first  long  stride  in  the  direction  of  general  political 
reform.  It  was  only  by  making  the  masses  see  their  own 
part  in  the  abominable  political  corruption  that  made 
"graft"  universal,  and  permitted  the  rapid  concentration 
of  the  country's  wealth  into  a  few  insolent  hands,  that  the 
decapitation  of  the  swarms  of  professional  politicians  could 
be  accomplished.  In  no  part  of  the  United  States  could 
such  reforms  be  attempted  with  anything  like  the  same 
prospect  of  success,  as  in  this  State  with  its  traditions  of 
contempt  of  money  for  its  own  sake,  and  its  almost  primeval 
sense  of  independence.  It  was  true  that  there  was  no 
superb  indifference  to  money  in  the  small  towns,  but  much 
of  the  old  spirit  lingered  among  those  that  lived  close  to 

446 


ANCESTORS 

the  soil;  and  Gwynne  had  never  seen  such  uncalculating 
lavishness,  such  a  humorous  contempt  for  economy  as  in 
San  Francisco.  He  was  himself  generous  by  instinct  and 
habit,  but  this  gay  reckless  openhandedness,  whether  a 
man  had  anything  to  spend  or  not,  had  already  stirred 
some  deeper  instinct  still,  possibly  his  pioneer,  perhaps  his 
Spanish,  and  he  had  never  enjoyed  anything  more  in  his 
life  than  certain  nights  in  San  Francisco,  when  he  had 
sallied  forth  with  his  pockets  full  of  gold  and  returned  to 
Russian  Hill  on  foot  for  want  of  a  five-cent  piece  to  pay  his 
car-fare.  He  had  himself  too  well  in  hand  ever  to  give 
permanent  rein  to  any  such  latent  propensities,  and  he  had 
no  intention  of  impoverishing  himself,  but  the  fact  that 
fthe  genius  of  the  city  was  in  his  blood  warmed  it  to  the 
strange,  fascinating,  wicked,  friendly,  young-old  city  on 
the  rim  of  the  Pacific.  \ 

As  it  happened,  he  was  not  in  the  humor  for  reading  on 
the  morning  after  the  meeting  of  the  female  clans,  nor  were 
there  any  clients  in  the  outer  office,  and  he  uttered  some 
of  his  impressions  aloud  to  the  judge  who  was  sitting  rest 
lessly  by  the  window,  ostensibly  watching  Main  Street. 
Gwynne  had  wondered  at  the  old  gentleman's  sudden  idle 
ness,  but  fell  easily  into  conversation  this  languid  morning 
that  was  more  like  spring  than  belated  winter. 

"I  can  understand  the  fascination  of  San  Francisco  for 
anybody,"  said  the  uneasy  judge.  "I  wonder — "  with  a 
sudden  inspiration,  "if  it  wouldn't  be  better  for  you  to  go 
into  the  law-office  of  a  friend  of  mine  down  there  for  a  while. 
I  mean — "  in  response  to  Gwynne's  look  of  astonishment, 
"of  course  I  should  hate  to  lose  you — quite  as  much  as  I 
hated  to  lose  my  own  son,  and  yours  is  the  only  society  in 
which  I  have  found  any  positive  refreshment  for  years. 

447 


ANCESTOR       S 

But — well!  in  tact  it  would  be  as  well  tor  you  to  leave  Rose- 
water  for  a  while — until  all  this  talk  has  died  out." 

"What  talk?" 

The  judge  felt  what  courage  was  left  in  him  oozing 
under  Gwynne's  icy  stare. 

"Oh  Lord!  It's  just  this,  Gwynne — just  fancy  I  am 
really  your  father.  There  are  a  lot  of  infernal  old  hens 
in  this  town — where  don't  they  roost,  anyway  ? — and  they 
have  been  exercising  themselves  over  your  going  out  to 
Isabel's  so  much,  especially  at  night.  They've  got  the 
idea  into  their  empty  heads  that  Isabel  has  come  back 
from  Europe,  where  she  lived  by  herself,  with  all  sorts  of 
free-and-easy  notions.  Perhaps  the  real  truth  is  that  they 
distrust  any  girl  as  handsome  as  that  who  won't  marry. 
The  talk  didn't  amount  to  much  until  yesterday  morn 
ing—" 

"Ah!"  Gwynne  stood  up  and  took  his  hat  from  the  little 
private  rack.  "Suppose  you  ask  Mrs.  Leslie  to  tell  the 
hens  that  I  have  spent  a  great  many  futile  evening  hours, 
the  only  ones  I  have  at  my  private  disposal,  trying  to  in 
duce  Miss  Otis  to  marry  me,  and  that  yesterday  evening, 
after  the  fourth  or  fifth  refusal,  I  borrowed  her  horse, 
having  walked  out,  and  rode  half-way  to  San  Francisco  to 
steady  my  nerves.  Love  and  the  law  combined  are  some 
what  of  a  load  to  carry.  I  will  go  out  now  and  try  my 
luck  again.  Perhaps  this  talk  will  influence  her  a  bit. 
In  fact  I  promise  that  it  shall." 


XXX 

found  Isabel  just  stepping  out  of  her  launch, 
after  a  business  morning  in  Rosewater,  and  was  hos 
pitably  invited  to  dismount  and  .remain  for  luncheon. 

"Would  you  mind  asking  your  Jap  to  make  us  some 
sandwiches  and  come  with  me  up  to  my  mountain  shanty  ?" 
he  asked.  "I  have  rather  a  headache  and  want  a  long 
ride.  Besides,  it  is  high  time  I  went.  I  should  look  over 
the  roads,  which  they  tell  me  are  very  bad  after  the  heavy 
rains.  I  want  to  go  into  camp  there  in  the  early  spring — 
have  invited  Hofer  and  one  or  two  others  for  salmon-fishing. 
I  have  now  sent  three  letters  to  the  tenant,  one  Clink,  by 
teamsters,  and  he  has  never  replied.  For  all  I  know  he 
may  have  burned  the  house  down  and  decamped.  So, 
altogether,  this  seems  to  me  the  time  to  go,  and  it  would  be 
very  jolly  to  have  you  with  me." 

"I'd  like  nothing  better,"  said  Isabel,  delightedly,  "after 
talking  eggs  and  chickens  all  morning.  And  I  haven't 
been  up  to  Mountain  House  for  years.  It  used  to  belong 
to  Uncle  Hiram,  you  know.  He  always  fished  there  in  the 
spring,  and  took  me  with  him.  Then  Mr.  Colton  bought 
it  in — I  won't  be  ten  minutes." 

"Now  I  know  why  you  wear  that  hideous  divided  habit 
and  ride  astride,"  said  Gwynne  as  they  started.  "I  have 
been  half-way  up  the  mountain  once  or  twice,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  Marin  hills,  and  I  have  never  seen  such 

449 


ANCESTORS 

roads.     They  are  a  disgrace  to  the  State.     Why  on  earth 
doesn't  the  legislature  take  them  in  hand  ?" 

"Now  7  know  you  are  in  a  bad  humor,"  said  Isabel, 
laughing.  "You  grumbled  at  everything  when  you  first 
came  to  California,  and  now  that  you  have  become 
philosophical  like  the  rest  of  us,  you  only  anathematize 
when  you  are  put  out.  I  saw  something  was  wrong  the 
moment  you  arrived.  What  is  it  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  later.  This  is  our  only  chance  for  a  sharp 
trot." 

It  was  quite  two  miles  to  the  ascending  road  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain  range  that  divided  the  great  valley. 
It  rose  gently  for  a  time  then  suddenly  became  steep. 
Lumpy  and  slanting,  already  dangerously  narrow  in  many 
places,  for  there  had  been  a  few  days  of  hard  rain,  it  led 
along  the  edge  of  canons  and  chasms,  creeks  and  little 
valleys  as  round  as  a  bowl.  Here  and  there  was  a  farm 
house  or  a  country  home  on  a  slope,  set  in  the  midst  of 
fields  just  turning  green.  The  first  stretch  of  road — cut 
roughly  in  the  mountain-side  and  then  left  to  take  care  of 
itself — was  on  county  property,  but  after  an  hour's  climb 
along  the  flank  of  the  mountain  they  reached  the  part  of 
the  great  mass  included  in  Lumalitas,  where  the  road, 
although  still  public,  had  been  mended  now  and  again  by 
tenants  that  had  used  the  camp  in  the  fishing  season. 

"It  is  even  worse  than  I  thought,"  grumbled  Gwynne. 
"I  wonder  if  Tom  Colton  could  be  induced  to  put  in  a  bill 
at  the  next  legislature.  It  would  be  a  good  opportunity 
for  him  to  make  a  promise  with  some  hope  of  fulfilment." 

"The  trouble  is  the  farmers  don't  care,"  said  Isabel, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  "There  are  only  a  few  of  them 
in  the  mountains  and  they  have  jogged  up  and  down  these 

45P 


ANCESTORS 

bad  roads  so  many  years  that  they  accept  them  as  a  matter 
of  course.  I  don't  know  that  I  mind  this,  myself.  It 
certainly  is  more  picturesque  than  if  it  had  become  pop 
ular  with  automobilists  of  much  influence  in  legislative 
councils." 

"At  present  you  have  to  ride  with  your  eyes  on  the  road 
to  make  sure  it  is  there." 

"We  can  take  turns,  and  it  certainly  is  beautiful." 

"Oh,  beautiful!" 

But  when  the  road  improved  for  quite  half  a  mile,  he 
too  gave  himself  up  to  the  sensation  of  being  lost  in  the 
heart  of  a  mountain.  The  valley  was  far  behind  them 
and  out  of  sight.  There  were  groves  of  ancient  oaks  in 
the  hollows,  turbulent  streams  foaming  over  masses  of 
rocks  that  had  fallen  from  the  cliffs  above.  Sometimes 
they  looked  down  a  thousand  sheer  feet  into  a  bit  of 
wilderness  as  unbroken  as  if  on  each  side  of  the  range  man 
had  not  snatched  the  fertile  lands  from  the  savage  a  century 
before. 

The  air  grew  colder  and  Isabel  put  on  her  covert  coat. 
J3ut  it  was  a  clear  sparkling  day,  and  when  they  reached 
(_  the  summit  they  could  see  San  Francisco,  a  smoky  mir 
age  forty  miles  to  the  south,  the  ferry-boats  crawling  like 
beetles  across  the  bay,  the  surf  of  the  ocean  on  the  rocks 
beyond  the  Golden  Gate,  a  vast  sweep  of  gray  ocean;  and — 
the  bulk  of  Tamalpais,  that  from  this  high  point  looked 
as  if  it  had  heaved  itself  free  of  the  mass  of  mountains 
and  forests  about  itX  Two  thousand  feet  below,  their  own 
valley,  with  its  mUrsh  and  fertile  ranches,  looked  like  a 
dark  ribbon  between  the  hills,  RosewTater  like  a  toy  village. 

They  trotted  their  horses  for  a  few  moments  on  the  level 
and  then  rode  down  into  the  little  valley  where  an  un- 

451 


ANCESTORS 

successful  farmer  of  solitary  habit  had  some  time  since 
rented  the  few  acres  of  land  surrounding  Mountain 
House,  with  the  understanding  that  the  best  rooms  were 
to  be  at  the  disposal  of  the  lord  of  Lumalitas  during  the 
fishing  and  hunting  seasons.  The  log-house,  or  "camp," 
was  very  solid  and  had  been  built  by  the  first  James  Otis, 
who  was  a  mighty  hunter;  and  the  salmon-fishing  in  the 
creek,  at  present  containing  but  a  few  feet  of  water,  was  so 
fine  that  hardly  a  spring  had  passed  without  a  visit  from 
the  tenants  of  Lumalitas,  who  were  constrained  by  the 
terms  of  the  lease  to  keep  the  house  in  repair.  Of  late 
this  had  been  the  duty  of  the  sub-lessee,  and  as  no  teams 
passed  his  isolated  dwelling,  and  as  he  had  not  seen  fit  to 
answer  his  landlord's  communications,  even  verbally,  by 
the  boy  from  one  of  the  lower  ranches  who  had  carried  up 
the  missives,  all  Gwynne  knew  was  that  Mr.  Clink  was 
alive,  and  that  the  ranch  was  free  of  winter  debris. 

They  found  the  gentleman  sitting  on  a  stump.  He  had 
a  hand  on  either  knee,  and  his  small  watery  unblinking 
eyes  were  fixed  on  space.  A  beard,  narrow  and  grizzled 
and  stained,  rested  on  his  lean  front,  or  stirred  gently  in 
the  breeze.  He  neither  rose,  nor  otherwise  noticed  the 
approach  of  his  visitors. 

Gwynne  called,  shouted,  approached  the  verge  of  pro 
fanity,  but  he  might  as  well  have  addressed  the  silent 
forest. 

Isabel  elevated  her  nose.  "To  use  the  vernacular,  he 
is  on  a  long,  slow,  melancholy  jag.  I  will  go  in  and  see 
how  he  keeps  the  house.  It  needs  an  airing  at  least. 
Every  window  is  closed  and  probably  has  been  all  winter." 

She  remained  in-doors  half  an  hour,  putting  things  to 
rights  with  many  mysterious  touches  known  only  to  her 

452 


ANCESTORS 

sex.  When  she  returned  to  Gwynne  she  found  him  sun 
ning  himself  on  the  porch  with  his  back  to  Mr.  Clink,  who 
stolidly  regarded  an  old  stump  of  geranium. 

"It  is  clean  enough,"  she  said.  "But  when  you  come, 
bring  new  blankets — or  send  them,  and  your  provisions — - 
the  day  before  you  bring  your  guests.  I  will  come  up 
with  them  and  see  that  everything  is  in  order.  I  might 
also  turn  the  hose  on  Clink,  if  he  has  chosen  that  occasion 
to  drench  himself  inside.  At  all  events  bring  a  cook — you 
can  have  Chuma;  these  people  never  can  cook  anything 
but  fried  meat  and  potatoes." 

Drifted  leaves  lay  on  the  porch  a  foot  deep.  Isabel 
found  a  broom  and  swept  vigorously,  snubbing  Gwynne's 
offer  to  do  it  himself.  He  watched  her,  crossly  reflecting 
that  she  was  never  so  unattractive  as  in  that  dust-colored 
divided  habit,  and  wishing  that  he  had  waited  for  the 
evening  hour;  even  if  infrequently  seductive,  she  was  al 
ways  lovely  in  a  becoming  gown. 

Finally,  her  labors  over,  she  dusted  an  aged  rocking-chair 
and  sat  down,  fanning  herself  with  her  hat.  Her  cheeks 
were  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkling,  but  she  turned  to  look 
at  the  beautiful  creek  that  had  torn  its  way  through  the 
forest,  and  Gwynne  suddenly  felt  that  he  hated  her  profile. 
During  the  last  few  weeks  he  had  lost  that  sense  of  a  con 
stant  and  secret  contest  of  wills,  perhaps  because  his  own  had 
proved  the  stronger  in  the  final  engagement;  perhaps,  who 
knew  ?  because  she  possessed  all  the  infernal  subtlety  of 
the  Spaniard.  But  her  profile  suggested  relentless  power, 
and  he  still  had  a  secret  hankering  for  the  old-fashioned 
submissive  female,  liberal  and  indulgent  to  the  sex  as  he 
was.  He  had  reflected  that  he  had  met  so  many  hand 
some  finely  developed  girls,  with  a  sufficiency  of  animated 

453 


ANCESTORS 

brightness,  but  well  within  the  type,  during  the  past  few 
weeks,  that  it  was  rather  odd  he  had  not  been  captured; 
particularly  as  several  of  the  most  ripping  would  add 
materially  to  his  fortunes.  But  he  had  come  to  the  con 
clusion  sometime  since,  when  he  hardly  knew,  that  he 
would  prefer  to  remain  unmarried,  and  enjoy  the  intimate 
companionship  of  a  congenial  and  interesting  creature  like 
Isabel,  whom  he  never  quite  understood.  He  cursed  the 
stale  old  conventions  that  interfered  with  his  desires. 

Isabel  turned  suddenly  and  smiled.  "How  fierce  you 
look!"  she  said.  "What  is  the  matter?" 

"Everything.  Some  one,  Mrs.  Haight,  I  suppose,  saw 
me  riding  home  on  your  horse  at  three  o'clock  yesterday 
morning,  and  the  whole  town  is  by  the  ears.  Judge  Leslie 
undertook  to  break  the  news  to  me,  and  I  told  him  I  had 
gone  out  to  propose,  and  then  ridden  about  the  country  to 
calm  my  raging  fires.  I  feel  that  I  owe  it  to  you  to  propose 
in  good  earnest,  and  such  as  I  am  you  are  welcome  to  me." 

"I  never  heard  such  a  graceful  proposal.  I  wouldn't 
marry  you  if  Rosewater  stood  on  its  head." 

"I  was  rather  brutal  about  it,  and  I  must  honestly  con 
fess  that  I'm  not  particularly  keen  on  marrying  you,  but  I 
think  we'll  have  to  marry,  or  be  deuced  uncomfortable — 

"Oh,  nothing  to  what  we  should  be  if  married.  And 
Rosewater  to  me  is  a  mere  market  for  chickens  and  eggs. 
The  only  punishment  they  could  inflict  on  me  would  be  to 
burn  down  the  hatcheries.  I  hate  to  bother  with  incu 
bators." 

Gwynne  stood  up  and  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 
"We  must  be  serious,"  he  said.  "They  are  really  malig 
nant  about  it.  I  have  felt  it  in  the  air  for  some  time. 
Every  time  I  pass  that  she-devil,  Mrs.  Haight,  on  Main 

454 


ANCESTORS 

Street,  her  eyes  contract  with  a  sort  of  malicious  warning. 
'Just  you  wait!'  is  the  way  she  would  phrase  it.  And  I 
always  feel  her  at  her  window  when  I  ride  home  late.  No 
woman  of  your  age  and  beauty  can  defy  public  opinion 
alone.  The  world — and  scandal  spreads  like  a  plague; 
San  Francisco  is  only  forty  miles  from  Rosewater — the 
world  can  hurt  you  in  a  thousand  ways,  ruin  your  life. 
I  really  am  only  too  willing  to  protect  you,  and  I  hope  that 
you  will  marry  me.  I  am  sure  we  should  get  along — after 
a  bit." 

"That  was  better.  But  I  will  not  be  driven  into  matri 
mony  by  gossip,  or.  even  scandal.  That  is  no  part  of  my 
scheme  of  life.  And  I  know  Rosewater  better  than  you 
do.  Mrs.  Leslie,  Anabel,  Mrs.  Colton,  many  of  the  most 
powerful,  would  never  believe  a  word  against  me." 

"Not  at  first.  But  malicious  tongues  will  wear  the  gloss 
from  the  best-befriended  reputation  in  time.  The  kindest 
natures  are  conventional;  and  susceptible  to  all  that  take,  or 
seem  to  take,  a  place  in  the  ranks  of  established  facts." 

"  I  won't  do  it,"  said  Isabel,  stubbornly;  and  as  she  turned 
her  profile  to  him  he  almost  swore  aloud.  "I  shall  con 
quer,  or  prove  the  whole  modern  game  of  woman  a 
sham,  a  fool's  paradise.  I  told  you  that  I  had  set  myself 
to  drag  strength  out  of  the  unknown  forces.  Well,  I  pro 
pose  to  use  it  now.  And  in  your  behalf  as  much  as 
mine." 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  ...  I  even  think  I  could  face 
the  prospect  of  becoming  your  husband  with  a  reasonable 
amount  of  equanimity."  She  was  looking  straight  at  him 
again,  her  face  deeply  flushed,  her  eyes  shining.  "It 
never  occurred  to  me  before,  but  I  believe  that  if  you  would 
permit  yourself  to  develop,  you  might  become  the  most 

455 


ANCESTOR 5 

fascinating  woman  in  the  world.  And  if  you  did,  I  swear 
that  you  should  be  happy." 

"I  am  happy,  and  in  my  own  way.  I  get  something 
out  of  every  moment.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  run  the 
risk  of  losing  all  that  for  anything  so  dubious  as  this  old 
game  of  sex?" 

"Very  good  game  if  it  is  played  properly.  I  have  a 
mind  to  teach  you." 

"Well,  you  will  not!" 

"I  think  I  shall.  It  is  either  marry  you  or  leave  Cali 
fornia." 

"That  is  a  threat  unworthy  of  you." 

"No  threat  at  all.  If  you  will  not  permit  me  to  protect 
you  in  one  way  I  must  in  another.  I  leave  and  throw 
everything  over  with  great  eclat.  You  have  discarded  me 
and  I  cannot  stand  the  proximity." 

"They  might  merely  think  that  you  were  running  away 
from  me." 

"I  shall  take  good  care  they  think  what  I  choose. 
Women  are  more  romantic  and  sentimental  than  malignant, 
the  bulk.  All  they  want  is  a  starter." 

"  But  you  need  not  leave  California.  You  can  move  to 
San  Francisco." 

"Now  you  are  talking  like  a  child.  I  shall  return  to 
England.  As  to  my  American  career,  my  only  chance  lies 
here.  I  hate  the  rest  of  the  country,  and  the  best  material 
is  in  California,  anyhow.  Yesterday  I  received  a  letter 
from  my  solicitor,  enclosing  one  from  Jimmy,  who  in 
formed  me  that  I  was  on  every  tongue,  that  the  public 
curiosity  was  piqued,  that  the  newspapers  were  demanding 
that  I  should  return  and  accept  my  responsibilities,  and 
that  without  doubt  a  place  would  be  made  for  me  in  the 

456 


A       NCESTORS 

new  Liberal  Cabinet.  It  is  a  propitious  moment  for  return. 
If  there  is  a  time  when  a  Liberal  peer  can  make  any 
running  it  is  when  his  party  is  in  power." 

There  was  a  pause  for  seveial  moments.  Gwynne  filled 
and  lit  another  pipe.  Isabel  stared  at  a  ring  she  twisted 
about  her  finger,  Mr.  Clink  at  the  geranium  stump.  The 
low  dull  roar  in  the  forest  tops  was  unceasing,  but  for  other 
sound  of  life  they  might  have  swung  off  into  space. 

Finally  Isabel  spoke.  "I  won't  marry  you,"  she  said. 
'*  But  all  ends  will  be  served  if  we  announce  an  engagement. 
We  can  state  that  we  think  it  best  not  to  marry  until  your 
law  studies  are  concluded.  It  can  be  postponed  once  or 
twice  on  other  pretexts,  then  fall  through.  By  that  time 
gossip  will  be  forgotten,  people  will  have  lost  interest  in  us. 
In  San  Francisco  they  are  not  likely  to  hear  of  this  at  all, 
or  if  they  do  it  will  not  matter,  and  if  you  fall  in  love  with 
any  of  the  cotillon  beauties  I  will  release  you  in  due  form 
and  give  you  my  blessing." 

"I  have  not  the  least  intention  of  undertaking  life  with  a 
cotillon  beauty.  Your  compromise  will  do  for  the  pres 
ent,  but  you  will  understand  that  my  proposal  is  a  bona 
fide  one,  should  you  arrive  at  a  more  rational  frame  of 
mind." 

'*  I  sha'n't  fall  a  victim  to  any  irrational  state  of  mind. 
I  won't  marry.  Why,  even  people  that  like  me  too  much 
interfere  with  my  sense  of  liberty." 

Gwynne  laughed.     "We  had  better  be  starting,"  he  said. 


XXXI 

THEY  parted  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  and  as 
Isabel  approached  her  own  house  she  saw  Anabel 
Colton's  trap  tied  to  the  garden  gate.  She  set  her  teeth  and 
slackened  the  pace  of  her  horse,  but  Anabel  and  Miss 
Boutts  had  seen  her,  and  leaned  over  the  edge  of  the 
veranda,  calling  to  her  impatiently.  She  gave  her  horse 
a  cut  with  the  whip  and  rode  rapidly  to  the  stable.  When 
she  finally  reached  the  veranda  she  greeted  her  friends 
courteously  enough,  and  then,  as  she  noted  their  expres 
sion  of  defiant  loyalty,  remarked,  sweetly: 

"Of  course  you  have  been  expecting  to  hear  that  I  am 
engaged  to  Mr.  Gwynne,  but  I  only  really  made  up  my 
mind  to-day." 

"Isabel!"  Both  fell  on  her  neck,  Dolly  with  tears,  and 
she  responded  with  what  enthusiasm  was  in  her,  and  gently 
deposited  them  into  two  of  the  veranda  chairs.  With  a 
very  fair  simulation  of  the  engaged  girl  she  answered  their 
rapid  fire  of  questions,  and  even  informed  Anabel  that  she 
would  prefer  silver  to  china  when  the  day  for  presents 
arrived,  and  promised  that  she  should  come  to  the  rehearsal 
of  the  ceremony,  since,  unfortunately,  the  young  matron's 
own  happy  state  debarred  her  from  officiating  at  the  altar. 
But  she  was  averse  from  lying,  even  by  implication,  and  was 
glad  to  see  them  go.  After  they  had  turned  for  the  last 
time  to  blow  her  a  kiss,  she  went  within,  slammed  all  the 

458 


A_      N    _C_    £       £       T       O       R       S 

doors  on  the  lower  floor,  stamped  her  feet,  and  hurled  a 
book  across  the  room.  Finally  she  swore.  After  that 
she  felt  better  and  sat  down  to  read  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Hofer  that  awaited  her. 


"...  I  can't  do  anything  with  your  Lady  Victoria" 
[the  lively  young  matron  ran  on  after  a  few  preliminary 
enthusiasmsj.  "She  went  everywhere  at  first,  but  just  sat 
round  looking  like  a  battered  statue  out  of  the  Vatican 
with  some  concession  in  the  way  of  clothes — not  so  much. 
Literally  she  made  no  effort  whatever,  and,  you  know, 
American  men  won't  stand  that.  Perhaps  that's  the  reason 
she  suddenly  called  off  and  refused  to  go  anywhere.  But 
what  can  she  expect  ?  American  women  may  talk  too 
much,  but  at  any  rate  they  are  the  sort  American  men 
know  like  a  book,  and  our  knights  have  no  use  for  inani 
mate  beauties  a  good  many  years  younger  than  my  Lady 
Victoria. 

"Now  she  appears  to  do  nothing  but  walk — stalk  rather. 
She  goes  over  these  hills  as  if  she  had  on  seven-league 
boots.  One  would  think  she  was  possessed  by  the  furies; 
or  perhaps  she  is  afraid  of  getting  fat. 

"I  am  simply  dying  to  see  you  again.  If  you  don't 
mind — I  like  you  better  than  any  one  I  ever  met.  You 
combine  everything,  and  although  you  make  me  feel  as 
fresh  as  paint  and  as  Irish  as  Paddy  Murphy's  pig,  still 
you  always  put  me  in  a  better  humor  with  myself  than 
ever.  How  do  you  do  it  ?  You  suggest  all  sorts  of  things 
that  I  can't  define  at  all.  Comes  of  living  alone  and 
making  a  success  of  it,  I  suppose,  getting  ahead  of  mere 
femininity  and  all  the  pettinesses  of  life.  That's  flying 
rather  high  for  me,  so  I'd  better  come  down.  Please  make 
Mr.  Gwynne  come  to  my  party.  I  intend  that  party  to  be 
the  greatest  thing  ever  given  in  California — since  the  old 
•9  459 


ANCESTORS 

Monte  Cristo  Ralston  days,  anyhow:  and  have  all  sorts 
of  surprises  that  I  won't  tell  even  you.  The  ballroom  is 
quite  finished  and  is  a  perfect  success.  It  is  too  fine  to 
think  that  you  will  make  your  formal  debut  in  it.  Every 
body  is  coming.  Mr.  Gwynne  simply  must.  I  know  of 
about  a  dozen  girls  who  would  have  given  him  the  cotillon 
if  he  had  asked  them,  and  even  now,  when  they  are  all 
engaged,  I  know  of  at  least  two  who  would  not  hesitate 
to  throw  their  men  over.  We  all  like  him  tremendously, 
the  men  as  well  as  the  women.  Mr.  Hofer  and  I — do  you 
know,  we  have  just  a  dark  suspicion — where  is  Elton 
Gwynne,  anyway  ?  That  would  be  too  good  to  be  true. 
He  could  own  the  town.  We  know  an  individual  when  we 
see  one,  and  wouldn't  we  appreciate  the  compliment!  We'd 
like  him  all  the  better  for  having  accepted  him  when  he  was 
plain  John  Gwynne,  and  we'd  like  ourselves  better  still. 
You  know  how  we  make  up  our  own  minds  out  here. 
Look  at  the  famous  actors  and  singers  we've  rejected,  and 
the  reputations  we've  made.  Not  like  New  York,  that 
never  expresses  an  opinion  until  a  sort  of  consensus  has 
sweated  up  to  the  surface.  I  hate  New  York.  Can't 
you  come  down  and  pay  me  a  visit  of  a  week  ?  I  should 
love  it.  Call  me  up  on  the  telephone/' 

Isabel  pondered  over  this  missive  for  a  few  moments 
and  then  reread  parts  of  a  long  letter  she  had  received 
the  day  before  from  Flora  Thangue. 

"...  I  almost  wish  Jack  would  return,  although  at  first 
I  approved  of  his  going.  His  case  seemed  so  desperate. 
But  since  the  elections  there  has  been  so  much  talk  of  him, 
so  many  prophecies  as  to  what  he  will  do  when  he  returns 
— they  believe  him  to  be  travelling  in  South  America — so 
much  seems  to  be  expected  of  him,  especially  now  that  the 

460 


ANCESTORS 

Liberals  are  in,  and  there  is  so  much  dissatisfaction  with 
the  Cabinet — I  really  believe  he  would  be  the  one  to  keep 
the  party  in  power  and  that  his  becoming  prime-min 
ister  would  be  a  question  of  only  a  few  years.  Not 
such  a  bad  outlook!  But  I  don't  care  to  say  all  this  to 
Jack — or  even  to  Vicky.  You  are  responsible  for  the 
present  state  of  affairs,  and  I  am  sure  you  realize  what  a 
tremendous  responsibility  it  is.  Besides,  you  know  every 
side  of  the  question  over  there  as  I  do  not.  Think  it  over, 
dear  Isabel.  .  .  .  Julia  Kaye,  I  happen  to  know,  has  been 
trying  to  get  his  address.  So  far,  she  has  not  landed  an 
other  big  fish,  and  no  doubt  thinks  that  Jack's  disgust  and 
enthusiasm  have  both  worn  themselves  out  by  this  time. 
Don't  send  him  back,  but  bring  him.  Of  course  he  has 
fallen  in  love  with  you.  Besides,  you  could  accomplish 
any  mortal  thing  you  put  your  will  to.  Do,  please,  think 
it  all  over.  A  few  years'  delay,  and  he  might  return  and 
find  it  too  late.  The  public  memory  is  short.  There  are 
rivals.  The  one  he  had  most  to  fear  from  has  an  Under- 
secretaryship,  and  lets  no  one  forget  him.  There  will  be 
deep  resentment  at  too  long  an  absence,  especially  if  he 
should  become  an  American  citizen  meanwhile.  They 
would  never  forgive  that. 

".  .  .  About  Vicky.  I  wish  I  could  have  gone  with  her, 
but  she  did  not  feel  that  she  could  afford  to  take  me,  and 
Vicky's  spasms  of  economy  are  not  to  be  discouraged. 
But,  thank  heaven,  she  has  you  and  Jack.  Perhaps  all 
she  really  needed  was  a  change:  she  was  always  an  in 
dividual,  but  she  got  to  be  distinctly  peculiar  after  you 
left — nerves,  I  suppose:  only  instead  of  being  merely 
irritable  like  other  women  she  sealed  herself  up  like  a 
Mahatma  preparing  for  astral  flight.  I  only  wish  she 
was  one.  Women  of  her  class  no  longer  take  to  religion, 
when  the  fires  are  dead,  but  they  certainly  need  a  sub 
stitute,  and  I  should  think  theosophy  would  be  as  good  as 

461 


ANCESTORS 

any.  It  is  such  a  delightful  mixture  of  vagueness  and 
cock-sureness,  and  even  more  picturesque  than  Romanism. 
It  is  time  for  me  to  follow  the  fashion  and  write  a  book, 
and  I  think  I'll  paint  the  mysterious  delights  of  India  as 
a  late  autumn  resort.  I  am  so  sick  of  all  these  public 
mausoleums  for  youth!  It  would  be  a  positive  relief  to 
think  of  all  our  erstwhile  beauties  stretched  out  in  some 
frescoed  cave  with  their  ears  and  eyes  and  noses  sealed  up 
with  wax,  while  their  ever-youthful  spirits  sallied  forth  for 
new  conquests  on  the  astral  plane.  But  Vicky  never  t  made 
up':  one  must  say  that  much  for  her.  Only  this  terrible 
fetich  of  youth!  Heavens!  the  tragedies  my  sympathetic 
soul  has  endeavored  to  see  as  tragedies  only.  Not  that 
growing  old  seems  to  be  the  worst  of  it.  The  underlying 
tragedy  is  that  they  can't  care  enough,  and  this  they  take 
to  be  the  real  end  of  youth,  and  patter  up  and  down 
the  old  worn-out  track  of  device,  trying  to  fool  them 
selves  as  well  as  others.  But  Vicky,  as  I  said,  is  an 
individual:  a  touch  or  two  more  and  she  might  have 
been  a  genius.  She  is  like  the  mass  of  women  in  many 
things,  heaven  knows,  but  her  divergences  are  the  more 
startling;  and  the  point  of  divergence  lies  down  in  the  roots 
of  her  pride.  She  suddenly  felt  the  complete  loss,  the 
final  departure  of  youth,  and  she  accepted  it  like  a  fallen 
goddess,  and  refused  even  the  sudden  and  startling  re 
newal  of  Sir  Cadge  Vanneck's  devotions.  She  had  noth 
ing  left  to  give  him,  and  although  her  pride  may  have 
urged  her  to  show  the  world  that  she  still  could  capture  a 
man  like  that,  I  think  he  really  bored  her  to  death,  and  she 
was  satisfied  to  parade  him  for  a  time  and  then  publicly 
throw  him  over.  And  she  once  loved  him,  I  am  certain 
of  it.  That  is  tragedy,  if  you  like.  I  fancy  she  has 
desperate  moments,  but  she  will  pull  through  in  her  own 
way.  Don't  delude  yourself  with  the  notion  that  she  is 
sitting  down  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  with  her  past !  Those 

462 


A      N      C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

women  don't  repent,  for  they  never  admit  that  the  laws  of 
common  mortals  apply  to  them.  What  is  their  royal 
pleasure  to  do  they  do,  and  when  it  is  over  a  square  inch  of 
their  memory  might  have  gone  with  it.  To  mull  them 
selves,  commit  some  flagrant  error  that  lands  them  in  the 
divorce  court,  or  high  and  dry  in  the  outskirts — that  is 
another  matter.  They  repent  then,  sans  doute;  and  get  no 
mercy.  We  overlook  everything  at  this  apex  of  civiliza 
tion  but  stupidity.  We  respect  the  high-handed  but  not 
the  light-headed.  That  is  one  reason  those  long-winded 
novels  of  sin  and  repentance — generally  over  one  slip 
and  when  the  man  has  wearied — leave  us  cold.  We  know 
too  much.  It  seems  such  a  lot  of  fuss  about  so  little.  If 
some  of  these  good,  painstaking,  and — let  us  whisper  it — 
bourgeoise  novelists  had  seen  one-tenth  of  the  pagan  dis 
regard  for  all  they  cherish  most  highly,  that  I  have  seen, 
and  if  they  could  only  be  made  to  comprehend — which 
they  never  could — how  absolutely  admirable  these  same 
women  are  in  many  other  respects — such  capacity  for  deep 
undying  friendship,  such  uncalculating  loyalty,  such  racial 
possibilities  of  heroism — well,  they  would  do  a  good  deal 
harder  thinking  than  they  have  had  to  do  yet,  if  they  at 
tempted  to  readjust  their  traditions  to  the  actual  facts 
of  life.  But  the  old  traditions  get  back  at  our  women  all 
the  same,  although  they  don't  suspect  it.  They  pay  the 
penalty  in  that  late — sometimes  not  so  late — intolerable 
maddening  ennui.  Heavens!  how  many  women  I  have 
heard  wish  they  were  dead.  Thank  God  I  am  a  virgin ! 

"Of  course,  dear  Isabel,  I  would  not  write  like  this  about 
Vicky  to  any  one  on  earth  but  yourself.  But  she  is  on 
your  hands,  sc  to  speak,  and  I  feel  you  should  have  some 
sort  of  comprehension  of  her.  To  understand  her  fully  is 
impossible.  She  is  unhappy,  that  is  the  main  thing — what 
with  all  I  have  intimated,  and  the  great  change  in  her 
fortunes — I  can  hardly  imagine  Vicky  without  Capheaton 

463 


ANCESTORS 

and  the  reflected  glory  of 'Elton  Gwynne';  and,  no  doubt, 
she  finds  California  an  exile  and  has  realized  by  this  time 
that  she  can  be  of  little  use  to  Jack.  Better  make  a  fortune 
for  her  in  your  wonderful  American  way  and  bring  them 
both  home." 


XXXII 

ISABEL  called  up  Mrs.  Hofer  on  the  telephone,  and 
1  after  being  switched  off  and  on  half  a  dozen  times, 
and  crossed  wires  and  all  the  other  mishaps  peculiar  to  the 
California  telephone  service  had  reduced  both  to  a  state 
of  furious  indifference,  Mrs.  Hofer  accepted  Miss  Otis's 
inability  to  go  down  to  San  Francisco  until  the  day  of  the 
party,  and  her  promise  to  pay  the  visit  during  Christmas 
week,  with  equal  philosophy. 

The  party  was  to  be  on  the  night  of  the  24th,  and  Isabel 
did  not  see  Gwynne  again  until  the  evening  of  the  same 
day.  Judge  Leslie  went  to  Santa  Barbara  to  spend  the 
holidays  with  his  son,  and  his  pupil  to  Burlingame  and 
Menlo  Park  for  a  week.  After  the  polo  and  various  other 
sports  at  the  former  resort,  with  a  set  that  bore  an  outline 
resemblance  to  the  leisure  class  of  his  own  country,  the 
gay  life  at  the  Club  and  the  multitude  of  pretty  girls  al 
ways  flitting  amid  compact  masses  of  flowers,  he  found 
the  now  unfashionable  borough  of  Menlo  Park  somewhat 
dull;  although  he  had  good  snipe-shooting  on  the  marsh 
with  his  host,  Mr.Trennahan.  The  whole  valley,  however, 
had  a  peculiar  charm  for  him;  when  riding  alone  past  the 
fields  of  ancient  oaks  with  the  great  mountains  on  either 
side,  almost  a  sense  of  possession.  For  all  this  magnificent 
and  richly  varied  sweep  of  land,  now  cut  up  into  a  few  large 
estates  and  an  infinite  number  of  small  ones,  into  towns, 

465 


ANCESTOR    _S 

and  villages,  hamlets,  and  even  cities,  had  once  been  the 
Rancho  El  Pilar,  and  the  property  of  his  Mexican  ancestor, 
Don  Jose  Arguello.  He  knew  that  in  those  old  days  it 
must  have  looked  like  a  vast  English  park,  and  he  felt 
some  resentment  that  his  ancestors  had  not  had  the  wit  to 
hold  fast  to  it  until  his  time  came  to  inherit. 

Mrs.  Trennahan's  father,  Don  Roberto  Yorba,  had 
bought  a  square  mile  from  one  of  the  Arguello  heirs,  and 
a  few  rich  men  of  his  time  had  followed  his  example; 
and  slept  in  their  country-houses  during  six  months  of  the 
year  while  their  women  yawned  the  days  away,  deriving 
their  principal  solace  in  contemplation  of  their  unchallenged 
exclusiveness.  Stray  members  of  those  old  families  were 
left,  and  were,  if  anything,  more  exclusive  than  their 
parents,  disdaining  the  light-hearted  people  of  Buriingame, 
unburdened  with  traditions.  This  was  still  the  set  that 
never  even  powdered,  faithful  to  the  ancient  code  that 
it  was  not  respectable,  and  who  spent  the  greater  part  of 
the  year  in  the  country,  finding  their  pleasures  in  the 
climate — soporific — excellent  old  Chinese  or  Spanish  cooks, 
and  in  reminiscences  of  the  time  when  the  fine  estates  had 
not  been  cut  up  into  little  suburban  homesteads  for  heaven 
only  knew  whom, 

Mrs.  Trennahan  had  sold  her  father's  place,  and 
bought  a  superb  estate  in  the  foothills,  where  she  en 
tertained  in  the  simple  fashion  of  the  Eighties.  Tren 
nahan  still  took  the  haughty  spirit  of  his  chosen  borough 
with  all  his  old  humor,  but  he  liked  no  place  so  well, 
even  in  California.  A  New-Yorker  is  always  a  New- 
Yorker,  however  long  he  may  live  in  California,  but  he 
becomes  more  and  more  attached  to  the  independent  life, 
the  even  climate,  above  all  to  the  cooking;  and  Trennahan 

466 


ANCESTORS 

was  no  exception.  He  had  found  Magdalena  the  most 
comfortable  of  companions,  she  had  presented  him  with 
two  fine  boys — who  were  preparing  for  college,  at  present 
— and  a  lovely  daughter;  and  he  was,  in  a  leisurely  way, 
collecting  earthquake  data,  for  future  publication,  and 
amused  himself  with  a  seismograph;  which  worried  Mag 
dalena,  who  thought  the  instrument  much  too  intimate 
with  earthquakes  to  be  a  safe  piece  of  household  furniture. 
Gwynne  liked  them  both  as  well  as  any  people  he  had  met 
in  California,  and  engaged  the  beautiful  Inez — who  would 
seem  to  have  embodied  all  her  mother's  old  passionate 
longing  for  physical  loveliness — to  dance  several  times 
with  him  at  the  great  ball  which  was  to  be  the  medium 
of  her  introduction  to  society. 

"I  am  still  old-fashioned,"  Mrs.  Trennahan  confided  to 
Gwynne,  with  a  sigh.  "I  never  have  liked  new  people 
and  I  never  shall;  Mr.  Trennahan  has  not  laughed  it 
out  of  me.  But  what  will  you  ?  They  are  seven-eighths 
strong  in  San  Francisco,  I  have  a  daughter  who  naturally 
demands  the  rights  of  her  youth — so  I  make  the  best  of 
a  bad  bargain.  But  I  protest." 

When  Gwynne  arrived  at  the  house  on  Russian  Hill  late 
in  the  evening  it  occurred  to  him  to  tap  on  Isabel's  door 
and  tell  her  that  he  had  obeyed  her  orders,  recalled  all  the 
traditions  down  in  their  common  ancestor's  old  domain, 
and  "got  the  feel"  of  the  place.  He  had  never  crossed  the 
threshold  of  this  room  although  he  had  brushed  his  hair 
many  times  in  the  spotless  bower  by  the  marsh,  and  he 
was  surprised,  after  a  moment's  colloquy  through  the 
panels,  by  an  invitation  to  enter.  He  was  still  more  sur 
prised  to  find  Isabel  sitting  before  her  dressing-table  in  full 
regalia,  although  they  were  not  to  start  for  the  party  until 

467 


ANCESTORS 

eleven  o'clock.  She  wore  the  white  tulle  gown  with  the 
dark-blue  lilies  in  which  she  had  created  a  sensation  at 
Arcot,  and  looked  more  radiant  than  he  had  ever  seen 
her.  Her  eyes  were  like  stars,  her  cheeks  were  pink; 
her  red  lips  were  parted,  the  upper  trembling  with  ex 
citement. 

"Come!  Look!"  she  cried.  "See  what  your  mother 
has  given  me.  I  had  to  dress  at  once  to  see  the  whole 
effect." 

She  lifted  and  fingered  rapturously  a  row  of  splendid 
pearls  that  lay  on  her  neck. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  beautiful  ?  All  my  life  I 
have  wanted  a  string  of  pearls — real  pearls  that  you  read 
about,  although  I  thought  myself  fortunate  to  have  that 
old  string  of  Baha  California  pearls,  and  never  expected 
anything  better.  At  first  I  wouldn't  take  them,  but 
Cousin  Victoria  said  they  were  her  mother's,  a  gift  from 
her  father  when  she  married,  so  that  I  ought  to  inherit 
them,  anyhow;  and  might  as  well  have  them  while  I  was 
young.  S-he  vowed  she  should  never  wear  them  again, 
as  her  skin  was  no  longer  white  enough  for  pearls.  I 
can't  believe  it!" 

Gwynne  looked  at  her  curiously,  "I  had  no  idea  you 
cared  for  those  things.  I  could  have  given  you  pearls. 
Your  pose  has  always  been  to  scorn  the  common  weak 
nesses  of  your  sex." 

"You  are  just  a  dense  man!  I  have  all  my  sex's  love  of 
personal  adornment,  if  you  like  to  call  that  a  weakness. 
Do  you  suppose  I  admire  myself  in  that  riding-habit  or 
those  overalls  ?  Don't  I  always  dress  for  supper  even 
when  alone  ?  Have  I  not  a  lot  of  lovely  gowns  ?  Look 
at  this  one!  I  am  so  glad  I  never  wore  it  again  until  ten 

468 


ANCESTORS 

night.  As  for  jewels,  I  adore  them,  and  when  I  am  a 
millionaire  I  shall  have  little  shovels  full  like  those  you 
see  in  jewellers'  windows,  just  to  handle;  and  the  most 
lovely  combinations  to  wear.  But  I  don't  ruin  my  com 
plexion  pining  for  what  I  can't  have — or  have  lost.  Of 
course  poor  mamma  had  beautiful  jewels,  but  they  went 
the  way  of  all  things." 

Gwynne  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  shall  get  a  bite  in 
town,"  he  said.  "The  shops  will  be  open  till  midnight. 
Hofer  will  endorse  a  check  for  me;  I  have  sold  three  farms 
in  the  past  week  and  have  a  pot  of  money  in  the  bank. 
There  is  something  else  I  want  you  to  wear  to-night — " 

"I  won't  take  jewels  from  you — " 

"You  are  not  only  my  fiancee  but  my  cousin — •" 

"  Nonsense  1" 

"I  shall  be  back  in  about  two  hours.  Mind  you  are 
sitting  just  there  when  I  arrive." 

As  he  went  swiftly  out  and  closed  the  door,  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  and  her  eyes  danced  with  anticipation.  After 
all,  she  could  return  his  present  when  the  farce  was  over, 
and  she  was  in  a  mood  to  have  the  world  poured  into  her 
lap. 

She  dined  alone  with  her  Puritan  and  Spanish  ancestors, 
and  when  the  brief  meal  was  over,  went  up  and  exhibited 
herself  to  Lady  Victoria,  who  was  in  a  state  of  silent  fury 
at  being  the  victim  of  a  headache.  She  complimented 
Isabel  upon  her  appearance,  however,  and  added: 

"I  hope  this  pretended  engagement  will  end  in  reality. 
You  are  of  our  blood.  I  recognize  it  more  and  more.  I 
am  thankful  he  escaped  Julia  Kaye.  You  are — could  be 
— all  I  am  afraid  I  compelled  myself  to  believe  she  was." 

"Do  you  want  him  to  go  back  to  England?"  asked 
469 


ANCESTORS 

Isabel.  "I  had  a  letter  from  Flora  the  other  day, 
and  she  thinks  it  is  my  mission  to  restore  him  to  his 
country." 

"I  don't  care.  What  difference  does  it  make  ?  I  want 
him  to  be  happy,  and  he  can  have  a  career  anywhere.  In 
your  case  beauty  is  not  a  curse,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
you  concentrate  your  gifts  where  you  can  find  and  give  real 
happiness.  Now,  enjoy  yourself  like  a  girl  to-night  and 
don't  bother  about  Jack  or  any  one  else — certainly  not 
about  me,"  as  Isabel  stood  looking  down  upon  her  with  a 
puckered  brow. 

Lady  Victoria,  in  a  negligee  of  salmon  pink  under  a  red 
light,  and  reclining  on  her  divan  with  a  box  of  cigarettes 
beside  her,  and  a  French  novel  in  her  hand,  looked  little 
less  handsome  than  when  she  had  captivated  Isabel's 
girlish  fancy  a  year  ago.  It  was  only  the  utter  weariness  of 
the  eyes,  and  a  subtle  hardening  of  the  whole  mask  of  the 
always  immobile  face,  that  betrayed  the  sudden  rupture 
with  a  long  complacent  youth.  But  she  looked  at  Isabel's 
glorious  youth  without  a  pang  of  envy  in  her  cynical,  if  not 
yet  philosophical,  soul,  and  said  again,  with  emphasis: 

"Marry  him.  You  can  do  it.  Any  woman  can  marry 
any  man  she  wants.  That  is  the  reason  we  are  never 
really  happy.  We  never  love  men,  as  we  imagine  that  we 
could  love.  We  have  fevers  for  them  that  last  a  few  weeks, 
and  then  we  become  maternal  and  endure  them.  We 
might  love  a  demi-god,  never  man  as  we  know  him. 
Perhaps  in  some  other  world — who  knows  ?" 

Isabel  pricked  up  her  ears.  Was  Lady  Victoria  medi 
tating  the  consolations  of  the  Church — or  of  Flora's  more 
modern  substitute  ?  What  a  solution!  But  she  dared  not 
ask.  She  was  still  a  little  afraid  of  her  complicated  rel- 

470 


A       N       C       E       S       T       0       R       S 

ative.     She  begged  her  not  to  read  too  late,  and  went  out, 
promising  to  conciliate  the  offended  Mrs.  Hofer. 

As  she  walked  down  the  hall  she  stooped  absently  and 
picked  up  a  scrap  of  paper,  hardly  aware  that  she  held  it 
in  her  hand  until  she  sat  down  once  more  before  her 
mirror.  Then  she  glanced  at  it.  To  her  surprise  it  was 
an  advertisement  of  a  prize-fight,  cut  from  a  newspaper, 
and  on  the  margin  an  illiterate  hand  had  scrawled,  "Nine 
o'clock  sharp."  She  wondered  which  of  the  servants  was 
indulging  in  the  distractions  of  the  ring.  All  except 
Lady  Victoria's  maid  were  Japs.  Could  the  French 
woman  have  found  a  lover  who  had  introduced  her  to  the 
forbidden  pleasures  of  the  town  ?  Obviously  it  was  not 
Gwynne's  for  the  date  was  two  days  old,  and  he  had  been 
in  Menlo  Park  at  the  time.  But  she  had  more  interesting 
things  to  ponder  over.  Being  a  good  housekeeper,  she 
folded  the  scrap  and  hid  it  under  one  of  the  little  silver 
trays,  intending  to  give  it  in  the  morning  to  Lady  Victoria, 
who  was  the  temporary  mistress  of  the  mansion.  Then 
she  fell  to  counting  her  pearls,  wound  them  twice  about 
her  throat,  decided  that  she  preferred  the  single  long  ellipse 
falling  among  the  blue  flowers  on  her  bosom,  marvelled, 
in  an  abandon  of  femininity,  at  the  dazzling  whiteness 
of  her  skin.  She  was  beautiful,  no  doubt  of  that;  it  might 
be  as  Lady  Victoria  and  Flora  Thangue  asserted,  that 
any  future  she  chose  was  hers  to  command;  and,  as  the 
latter  had  intimated,  to  be  an  English  peeress,  with  her 
husband  at  the  head  of  the^state,  was  no  mean  destiny. 
To-night,  her  almost  fanatical  love  of  California  was  dor 
mant.  She  felt  wholly  personal.  Whatever  the  future, 
she  wanted  to  be  the  most  admired  girl  at  this  party  to 
night,  to  dominate  its  long -heralded  splendors  as  a  great 


ANCESTORS 

soprano  rises  high  and  triumphant  above  the  orchestral 
thunders  of  a  Wagner  opera.  Old  instincts  were  stirring 
subtly.  She  had  the  rest  of  her  life  for  great  ideals.  To 
night  she  would  be  an  old-time  belle:  as  Concha  Arguello 
had  been  just  a  century  ago,  as  Guadalupe  Hathaway, 
Mrs.  Hunt  McLane,  Nina  Randolph,  and  "The  Three 
Macs,"  had  been  in  the  city's  youth;  as  Helena  Belmont 
had  been  but  twenty  years  before.  She  recalled  the  oft- 
told  story  of  the  night  of  Mrs.  Yorba's  great  ball,  in  the 
house  next  to  the  one  which  was  to  be  the  theatre  of  her  own 
debut,  when  Magdalena  Yorba,  Tiny  Montgomery,  Ila 
Brannan,  and  the  wonderful  Helena  had  been  introduced 
to  San  Francisco,  and  the  most  distracting  belle  the  town 
had  ever  known  had  turned  the  heads  of  fifty  men.  It  was 
far  easier  to  be  a  belle  in  that  simpler  time  than  to-day, 
when  the  San  Franciscan  vied  with  the  New-Yorker  in  the 
magnificence  of  furnishing  and  attire,  and  a  mere  million 
was  no  longer  a  fortune.  And  the  city  more  than  main 
tained  its  old  standard  of  beauty,  for  its  population  had 
nearly  doubled;  the  handsome  girls  of  the  upper  class  had 
learned  the  art  of  dress,  and  even  among  the  shop-girls 
there  was  a  surfeit  of  pretty  faces  and  fine  busts.  As  to 
the  demi-monde  it  was  the  pick  of  America,  for  obvious 
reason. 

But  Isabel  was  an  ardent  dreamer,  and  as  she  sat  in  her 
silent  old  home,  high  above  the  city's  unresting  life,  she 
Imagined  herself  into  a  blissful  picture  where  she  should 
realize  to  the  full  all  the  desires  dear  to  the  heart  of  a  girl. 
It  was  true  that  she  had  created  a  furore  that  night  at 
Arcot,  but  her  triumph  had  been  extinguished  by  fright 
and  the  tragedies  that  came  in  its  train.  And  no  triumph 
abroad  ever  quite  equals  the  conquest  of  your  own  territory. 

472 


ANCESTORS 

Isabel  concluded  that  if  it  were  a  matter  of  a  single  season, 
she  would  rather  reign  in  San  Francisco  than  in  London — 
but  her  dreams  were  cut  short  by  Gwynne's  rapid  step  on 
the  plank  walk>  and  a  moment  later  he  was  tapping  on 
her  door. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  undisguised  expectancy. 

"I  am  going  to  enjoy  it,"  she  said.  "I  shall  accept  it. 
I  don't  care!" 

"I  should  hope  so,  after  all  the  trouble  I  have  had." 
He  sat  down  in  a  low  chair  beside  the  dressing-table 
and  facing  her.  "Hofer  had  been  turned  out  of  the  house 

t> 

and  had  taken  refuge  at  the  Mission.     I  took  an  auto- 

O 

mobile  and  rushed  out  there,  only  to  find  that  he  and  his 
friends  had  concluded  to  come  in  and  dine  at  one  of  the 
restaurants.  Definite,  but  I  know  their  tastes  pretty  well, 
and  finally  tracked  them  down.  By  that  time  I  was 
starved,  but  when  the  dinner  was  over  Hofer  went  with 
me  himself  to  the  jeweller's—" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Isabel,  impatiently,  her  eyes  on  a 
long  box  Gwynne  had  taken  from  his  pocket. 

But  Gwynne  seldom  had  an  opportunity  to  tease  her. 
He  drew  his  finger  along  the  heavy  coil  of  hair  that  rose 
from  the  very  nape  of  her  neck  and  pushed  forward  a  soft 
little  mass  on  to  the  brow.  "I  have  always  wanted  to  see 
something  here,"  he  said.  "I  remember  once  seeing  a 
lovely  print  of  the  Empress  Elizabeth  of  Austria,  who  wore 
her  hair  somewhat  as  you  do — " 

''Not  a  bit  of  it.  Her  hair  was  generally  half-way  down 
her  back—" 

"Well  the  effect  was  the  same — and  in  this  print  she 
had  a  row  of  daisies  or  stars;  I  never  could  remembei 
which — " 

473 


ANCESTORS 

"You  haven't  brought  me  daisies?"  said  Isabel,  in  dis 
gust. 

Gwynne  pressed  the  little  gilt  nob,  and  as  the  lid  flew 
up  Isabel  cried  out,  with  delight. 

"You  shouldn't!  But  I  don't  care!  I  said  I  wouldn't. 
I  never  expected  anything  so  gorgeous,  though — 

She  caught  the  box  from  his  hand  and  fastened  the 
diamond  stars  in  the  line  he  had  indicated.  There  were 
five,  graduated  in  size,  and  they  gave  her  beauty  its  final 
touch  of  poetry  and  light.  Isabel  gazed  at  her  dazzling 
reflection  with  parted  lips  and  dancing  eyes,  then  turned 
impulsively,  flung  her  arms  about  Gwynne's  neck,  and 
kissed  him.  He  pushed  her  away  roughly. 

"  Don't  do  that  again !"  he  said.  "  I  am  not  your  brother, 
nor  one  of  your  girl  friends.  Can  I  look  about  ?  I  have 
always  had  a  curiosity  to  see  this  room.  I  had  an  idea 
that  it  was  different  from  the  one  at  the  ranch." 

"You  can  look  at  what  you  like,"  said  Isabel,  indif 
ferently.  "I  shall  look  at  my  stars.  Madre  de  Dios! 
as  our  Spanish  ancestors  would  have  said.  Ay  yl! 
Valgame  Dios!  Dios  de  mi  alma!  Dios  de  mi  vida!  I 
never  was  so  happy  in  my  life." 

Gwynne  walked  about  the  large  old-fashioned  room 
with  its  bow-window,  and  alcove  for  the  bed.  He  had 
half  expected  that  the  room  he  had  so  often  passed  with 
reluctant  steps  would  be  furnished  in  blue  or  pink,  but 
it  was  as  red  as  that  of  the  traditional  queen.  Isabel  had 
brought  up  all  the  old  crimson  damask  curtains  that  had 
been  fashionable  in  her  grandmother's  time,  and  covered 
the  windows  and  walls  of  her  bedroom,  even  the  head  of 
the  mahogany  four-poster  in  which  her  mother  and  herself 
had  been  born.  The  carpet  was  new,  but  a  dull  crimson, 

474 


ANCESTORS 

like  the  faded  hangings,  and  the  dressing-table  with  its 
quantity  of  chased  silver — one  of  the  few  inheritances  she 
had  managed  to  retain — was  the  only  spot  of  light  in  the 
rather  sombre  room:  it  was  all  white  muslin  and  bright 
crimson  silk.  There  was  an  old-fashioned  settle  against 
the  wall  and  three  stiff  chairs.  Gwynne  liked  the  room, 
and  had  a  vague  feeling  that  he  knew  Isabel  a  little  better. 
Certainly  it  expressed  a  side  of  her  of  which  he  had  caught 
but  an  occasional  glimpse. 

He  pulled  the  curtains  apart  and  shading  his  eyes  from 
the  light  of  the  room  looked  down  towards  the  city.  I  It 
had  vanished  under  a  sea  of  white  fog  that  broke  against 
the  ledge  of  Nob  Hill.  A  cable-car  might  have  been  a 
comet  flashing  along  the  edge  of  a  void.  ^ 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  "I  wonder — should  San  Francisco 
disappear — be  burned  by  that  fire  you  are  always  ex 
pecting — or  if  the  bay  should  shoal,  or  the  Golden  Gate 
rush  together,  so  that  she  would  have  no  reason  for  exist 
ence,  and  gradually  be  devoured  by  time — I  suppose  the  fog 
and  the  winds  would  still  be  faithful.  I  can  imagine  the 
fogs  rolling  in  and  embracing  her,  and  the  winds  raging 
about  every  forgotten  corner,  centuries  after  there  was 
anybody  left  to  curse  either." 

"Was  it  Mrs.  Kaye  or  Lady  Cecilia  Spence  that  said 
you  just  missed  being  a  poet  ?  I  hope  some  slumbering 
ancestor  is  not  struggling  for  resurrection  out  here.  I 
much  prefer  that  you  should  be  a  statesman." 

"I  intend  to  be,  nor  have  I  any  desire  to  turn  poet.  I 
have  seen  too  many  in  London.  ^But  this  city,  ugly  as  it  is, 
appeals  in  its  own  way  to  the  imagination — more,  for  some  * 
unknown  reason,  than  the  most  poetic  I  ever  saw  in  the  old 
worlds.  There  is  something  almost  uncanny  about  it. 
30  475 


ANCESTORS 

While  it  is  raw,  and  crude,  and  practically  in  its  infancy, 
it  at  the  same  time  suggests  an  unthinkable  antiquity. 
Perhaps — who  knows  ? — it  had  a  civilization  contemporary 
with  the  Montezumas — or  with  Atlantis;  and  it  is  the 
ghosts  of  old  unrecorded  peoples  that  linger  and  give  one 
a  fairly  haunted  feeling  when  one  climbs  these  hills  alone 
at  night."  5 

"  Mucr/better  you  keep  your  hand  on  your  pistol  and 
your  eye  out  for  foot-pads — and  one  dreamer  in  the  family 
is  enough.  I  hope  I  have  not  infected  you." 

She  forsook  her  glowing  image  and  looked  at  him  in 
quisitively.  He  wandered  about  the  room  again  and 
paused  to  look  at  a  row  of  daguerreotypes  on  a  shelf,  dead 
and  forgotten  Belmonts. 

"You  do  dream  a  good  deal,"  he  said.  "Judging  by 
your  varying  styles  of  beauty  as  well  as  other  things,  you 
must  be  possessed  by  a  dozen  different  sorts  of  old  Johnnies 
trying  to  mutter  something  up  out  of  the  dark." 

"I'm  going  to  be  nothing  but  a  dreamer  for  a  whole 
week." 

"If  that  means  that  you  will  forget  chickens,  and  dress 
yourself  decently,  I  shall  do  what  I  can  to  heighten  the 
illusion.  Should  you  like  me  to  make  love  to  you  ?" 
he  asked,  turning  to  her  with  a  quickening  interest. 

"That  might  wake  me  up,"  said  Isabel,  politely.  "This 
week  is  crowded  with  parties  and  things.  I  am  to  visit  Mrs. 
Hofer  and  go  to  all  of  them.  You  won't  see  much  of  me 
until  New  Year's  eve,  when  I  come  home  and  we  dine  at  a 
Bohemian  restaurant  with  Lyster  and  Paula,  and  watch 
the  street  crowds  after.  But  I  do  not  look  so  far  ahead. 
If  I  am  a  success  to-night  I  am  going  to  make  believe  that 
I  am  an  old-time  belle  like  Helena  Belmont,  or  my  poor 

476 


ANCESTORS 

little  mother,  for  that  matter.  And  I  shall  feel  just  like 
her  when  I  start,  for  Angelique  will  pin  up  my  skirts  under 
a  long  cloak,  and  pull  carriage  boots  over  my  slippers  so 
that  nothing  will  be  spoiled  going  down  those  steps.  I 
suppose  I  can't  hope  to  be  quite  such  a  belle  as  if  I  had 
lived  in  those  less -sophisticated  days,  but  who  knows? 
And  I  can  forget  Rosewater — and  Bohemia;  I  sha'n't 
even  think  of  the  Stones  until  New  Year's  eve;  I  sent  them 
their  Christmas  presents  this  morning,  on  purpose.  I  am 
going  to  be  frivolous,  coquette,  and  imagine  myself  a  girl 
of  the  old  Southern  Set,  when  there  were  no  new  people. 
And  I'm  going  to  make  them  think  I  am  a  great  beauty, 
whether  I  am  or  not.  I  remember  mamma  used  to  say  to 
me:  •  'Cultivate  the  beauty  air.  That  often  is  more 
effective  than  beauty  itself.  Tiny  Montgomery  was  a 
beauty  according  to  every  known  standard,  but  she  had 
no  dash,  and  was  never  looked  at  when  Helena  Belmont 
was  in  the  room.  So  to-night,  you'll  see  me  sail  into  that 
ballroom  as  if  I  already  had  the  town  at  my  feet.  By-the- 
way — the  last  time  I  began  to  feel  like  a  real  girl  again 
was  that  night  at  Arcot — and  I  did  feel  eighteen — trium 
phant — happy — until  I  got  back  and  saw  Lord  Zeal  in  the 
library.  I  have  never  forgotten  his  face." 

:<Nor  have  I,"  said  Gwynne,  dryly;  but  he  turned  pale. 
"I  suppose  you  haven't  had  the  least  suspicion  what  he 
came  to  tell  me  that  night  ?" 

"  I  thought  to  say  good-bye  without  letting  you  know — • 
it  isn't  possible  that  he  told  you  he  intended  to  kill  him 
self?" 

"He  told  me  a  good  deal  more.  He  had  shot  Brath- 
land.  Murdered  him,  in  plain  English.  You  may  fancy 
the  night  I  had  with  him." 

477 


ANCESTORS 

Isabel  stared  up  at  him,  the  radiance  gone  from  her  face. 

"And  you  have  been  carrying  that  about  in  addition  to 
everything  else  ?" 

"It  was  brutal  to  tell  you  this  to-night!  I  can't  imagine 
why  I  did,  particularly  as  I  have  never  told  even  my 
mother — who,  like  everybody  else  not  necessarily  in  the 
secret,  thinks  that  Zeal  killed  himself  in  despair  over  his 
failing  health.  But — yes,  I  remember  that  dress  now — 
I  rarely  notice  the  details  of  women's  clothes — but  I  re 
member  admiring  those  blue  lilies  on  that  airy  white  stuff 
— I  suppose  you  suddenly  brought  the  whole  thing  back 
as  vividly  as  if  we  were  at  Capheaton  instead  of  out  here 
on  the  edge  of  creation.  You  must  forgive  me  and  for 
get  it." 

"Yes  I  will!  I'll  forget  everything  for  a  week."  She 
wheeled  about  and  rubbed  her  cheeks.  Gwynne  stooped 
suddenly  and  kissed  the  little  black  mole  on  her  shoulder. 

"This  is  all  I  ask  in  return  for  the  baubles,"  he  mur 
mured;  and  then  as  he  met  a  blazing  eye:  "Could  I  do  less 
than  restore  your  lovely  color  ?  But  I  must  fly  and  get 
into  my  togs." 


XXXIII 

THE  old-fashioned  interior  of  the  Polk  House,  with, 
on  the  lower  floor,  its  double  parlors  connected  by 
sliding  doors,  its  narrow  central  hall,  and  its  many  shape 
less  rooms  of  varying  size,  had  been  entirely  remodelled 
by  the  essentially  modern  Mrs.  Hofer.  Her  husband  had 
wished  to  build  an  imposing  mass  of  shingles  and  stones, 
but  Mrs.  Hofer  was  far  too  impatient  to  wait  a  year — • 
perhaps  two,  if  there  were  strikes — to  take  up  her  abode 
on  Nob  Hill,  and  the  Polk  House  was  in  the  market. 
Perhaps  something  in  the  stolid  uncompromising  exterior 
of  the  old  barrack  appealed  to  her  irresistibly,  mausoleum 
that  it  was  of  an  aristocratic  past.  But  upon  the  in 
terior  she  wasted  no  sentiment,  and  some  half  a  million 
of  her  husband's  dollars.  There  were  now  three  great 
rooms  on  the  lower  floor  and  four  small  ones,  besides  a 
circular  hall  with  a  spiral  marble  stair.  The  drawing- 
room,  which  ran  from  east  to  west,  was  one  of  the  most 
notable  rooms  in  the  country,  had  been  the  subject  of 
violent  controversy,  newspaper  and  verbal,  and  was  a 
perpetual  delight  to  the  dramatic  soul  of  its  mistress.  The 
most  original  artist  the  State  had  produced  had  painted  a 
deep  frieze  which  was  a  series  of  the  strange  moonlight 
scenes  that  had  made  his  fame:  the  deep  sulphurous  blue 
of  the  California  night  sky,  the  long  black  shadows,  the 
wind-driven  trees,  the  low  desolate  adobe  houses  aban- 

479 


INCEST       0       R      S 

doned  in  the  towns  settled  by  Spain.  Now  and  again  a 
cluster  of  lights  indicated  a  window-pane  and  a  belated 
tenant,  but  the  garden  walls  were  in  ruins,  the  tiled  roofs 
sagging,  the  ancient  whitewash  was  peeling;  all  blended 
and  lifted  into  a  harmony  of  color  and  pathos  by  the 
genius  of  the  artist.  The  expanse  of  dull  green-blue  walls 
of  rough  plaster  below  the  frieze  was  unbroken ;  on  the 
marble  floor  there  were  blue  velvet  rugs.  The  furniture 
was  of  ebony  and  dull-blue  brocade.  There  was  not  even 
a  picture  on  an  easel,  but  there  were  several  Rodins  and 
Meuniers.  At  the  lower  or  west  end  of  the  room  the  wall 
had  been  removed  and  replaced  by  a  single  immense  pane 
of  plate  glass.  From  this  window,  always  curtainless, 
there  was  a  startling  view  of  the  steep  drop  of  the  hill, 
beetling  with  houses  and  steeples,  Telegraph  Hill  beyond 
and  a  little  to  the  north;  then  the  bay,  and  the  towns  on 
its  opposite  rim.  At  night  the  scene,  with  its  blue  above 
and  black  below,  picked  out  with  a  thousand  lights — 
massed  into  a  diadem  beyond  the  bay — looked  like  a 
sublimation  of  the  painter's  work.  Within,  the  cunningly 
arranged  lights  saved  the  room  at  all  times  from  being  too 
sombre,  and  were  set  to  reveal  every  detail  of  paintings 
far  too  precious  to  have  been  recklessly  lavished  upon  a 
wooden  house  in  the  most  recklessly  built  of  all  great 
cities. 

The  dining-room — which  had  the  proportions  of  a 
banqueting-hall,  with  an  alcove  for  family  use — was  hung 
with  tapestries  and  furnished  with  chairs  lifted  bodily  from 
a  castle  in  Spain;  and  it  was  a  room  in  which  no  one  would 
remember  to  look  for  ancestors.  The  library  also  com 
manded  a  view  of  the  bay  and  had  been  decorated  by 
native  artists  with  imitations  of  the  Giorgione  frescoes 

480 


ANCESTORS 

charmingly  pink  and  smudgy.  The  hangings  and  furni 
ture  were  of  royal  crimson  brocade,  and  the  walls  were 
covered  with  books.  Mr.  Toole,  who  was  a  scholar  of  the 
old-fashioned  sort,  of  which  California  still  holds  so  many, 
had  selected  the  books;  and  the  contents  were  as  note 
worthy  as  the  bindings.  In  a  special  alcove  was  a  large 
number  of  priceless  Fourteenth  and  Sixteenth  Century 
editions.  From  this  sumptuous  room  curved  an  iron  bal 
cony,  where  the  old  gentleman  might  be  seen  sunning  him 
self  any  fine  day,  his  steel  spectacles  half-way  down  his 
nose,  and  a  volume  propped  on  the  shelf  of  an  easy-chair 
furnished  with  all  the  modern  improvements. 

On  the  white  satin  panels  of  the  large  round  hall  were  a 
few  of  the  most  valuable  old  masters  as  yet  brought  to  the 
country,  but  Mrs.  Hofer,  who  was  a  patriot  or  nothing, 
did  not  hesitate  to  mix  them  with  the  best  efforts  of  her 
fellow -citizens,  nor  to  proclaim  her  preference  for  the 
native  product.  It  was  all  very  well  to  have  old  masters, 
and  modern  Europeans,  if  it  was  the  thing,  but  she  never 
felt  quite  at  home  with  them,  and  liked  her  California 
inside  as  well  as  out. 

The  four  little  reception-rooms,  or  boudoirs,  were  so 
many  cabinets  for  treasures,  and  on  the  night  of  the  ball, 
like  the  rest  of  the  rooms  on  this  floor,  were  entirely  with 
out  further  adornment;  only  the  white  marble  of  the  spiral 
stair  was  festooned  with  crimson  roses;  and  the  narrow 
hall  that  led  from  the  rotunda  to  the  new  ballroom  was 
dressed  in  imitation  of  a  long  arbor  of  grape-vines,  and 
hung  with  clusters  of  hot-house  grapes  and  Chinese  lan 
terns.  The  ballroom  had  been  built  out  from  the  back 
of  the  house  upon  the  steep  drop  of  the  hill,  and  as  even 
its  graduated  foundation  did  not  lift  it  to  the  level  of 


ANCESTORS 

the  first  floor,  it  was  reached  by  a  short  flight  of  steps. 
For  three  months  Mrs.  Hofer's  judicious  hints  had  excited 
the  curiosity  of  the  town,  and  all  that  were  not  bedridden 
had  presented  themselves  at  as  early  an  hour  as  self- 
respect  would  permit.  Mrs.  Hofer,  to  use  her  own 
phrase,  had  "turned  herself  loose/*  on  this  room,  and  even 
her  husband,  who  had  gasped  at  the  sum  total,  indulgent 
as  he  was,  admitted  to-night  that  "she  knew  what  she 
was  about."  The  immense  room  was  built  to  simulate  a 
patio  in  Spain.  The  domed  roof,  in  the  blaze  of  light 
below,  looked  to  be  the  dim  blue  vault  of  the  night  sky. 
The  gallery  that  encircled  the  room  was  divided  into  bal 
conies,  and  from  them  depended  Gobelin  tapestries,  East 
ern  rugs,  silken  shawls — yellow  embroidered  with  red, 
blue  embroidered  with  white — after  the  manner  of  Spain 
on  festa  days.  The  background  of  the  gallery  was  a  mass 
of  tropical  plants  alternating  with  latticed  windows  and 
long  glass  doors.  Sitting  with  an  arm  or  elbow  on  the 
railing,  was  every  California  woman  of  Mrs.  Hofer's  ac 
quaintance  that  had  the  inherited  right  to  wear  a  mantilla, 
a  rose  over  her  ear,  and  wield  a  large  black  fan;  that  is  to 
say,  those  that  were  too  old  or  too  indifferent  to  dance. 
How  Ada  Hofer  induced  them  to  form  a  part  of  her 
decorations  nobody  ever  knew,  themselves  least  of  all; 
but  there,  to  the  amazement  and  delight  of  the  hundreds 
below,  they  were,  and  it  was  many  years  since  the  majority 
of  them  had  looked  so  handsome.  Beneath  the  balcony 
was  an  arcade  where  many  seats  were  disposed  among 
palms  and  pampas  grass.  The  inevitable  fountain  was 
at  the  end  of  the  room;  it  was  of  white  stone,  and  colored 
lights  played  upon  its  foaming  column.  The  musicians 
were  in  the  gallery  above  it. 

•482 


A_       NCESTORS 

When  Gwynne  and  Isabel  descended  the  steps  and 
stood  looking  down  upon  the  scene  for  a  moment,  the 
younger  people  were  dancing.  Every  woman  seemed  to 
have  been  fired  with  the  ambition  to  contribute  her  own 
part  to  the  brilliancy  of  the  night.  There  were  tiaras  by 
the  score  in  these  days,  and  the  gowns  had  journeyed  half 
way  round  the  world.  There  had  been  imported  gowns 
in  the  immortal  Eighties,  when  Mrs.  Yorba  reigned,  but 
never  a  tiara;  and  Isabel  for  the  first  time  fully  realized 
the  significant  changes  worked  by  the  vast  modern  fortunes 
and  their  ambitious  owners.  Blood  might  have  been 
enough  for  their  predecessors,  but  the  outward  and  visible 
sign  for  them. 

And  all  sets  were  represented  to-night.  It  is  doubtful  if 
any  woman  had  done  as  much  to  entice  them  to  a  common 
focus  as  the  surmounting  Mrs.  Hofer.  She  was  not  the 
leader  of  San  Francisco  society,  for  that  office  was  prac 
tically  an  elective  one,  and  meant  an  infinite  amount  of 
trouble  with  corresponding  perquisites;  it  must  be  held  by 
a  woman  of  supreme  tact,  experience,  executive  ability, 
and  practically  nothing  else  to  do.  The  present  incum 
bent,  to  the  infinite  credit  of  San  Francisco,  was  a  member 
of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  distinguished  families  in 
California;  or  in  America,  for  that  matter;  and  although 
still  young,  and  with  less  to  spend  in  a  year  than  the 
Hofers  wasted  in  a  week,  she  had  been  chosen,  after  the 
death  of  the  old  leader,  and  some  acrimonious  discussion, 
to  rule;  and  rule  she  did  with  a  rod  of  iron.  But  she  took 
her  good  where  she  found  it,  and  was  grateful  for  what 
Mrs.  Hofer,  with  her  beautiful  house  and  irresistible  energy 
had  already  accomplished.  For  Mrs.  Hofer  was  by  no 
means  too  democratic.  If  she  had  drawn  all  factions  to 

483 


ANCESTORS 

her  house  she  had  taken  care  that  only  the  best  of  her  own 
kind  came  too,  and  this  best  was  very  good  indeed;  for  it 
was  educated  and  accomplished,  more  often  than  not  had 
mingled  in  society  abroad;  an  honor  to  which  many  of  the 
ancient  aristocracy  had  never  aspired.  No  one  recognized 
this  fact,  and  the  irresistible  law  of  progress,  better  than 
the  Leader,  in  spite  of  her  Spanish  blood;  and  to-night  she 
sat  in  the  very  centre  of  the  north  gallery,  her  charming 
dark  face  draped  in  a  mantilla  some  two  centuries  old. 
Beside  her  sat  Anne  Montgomery  who  had  not  a  drop  of 
Spanish  in  her,  but  whom  Mrs.  Hofer  had  done  up  with 
a  brand-new  mantilla  of  white  lace  and  an  immense  black 
fan.  Miss  Montgomery  had  a  lingering  sense  of  humor, 
but  it  suited  her  to  look  young  and  pretty  once  more,  if 
only  for  a  night.  Mrs.  Trennahan,  who  was  really  fond 
of  Mrs.  Hofer,  particularly  as  she  had  been  adroitly  per 
suaded  that  this  party  was  to  be  a  mere  setting  for  her 
lovely  young  daughter,  also  decorated  the  gallery  in  one  of 
the  old  Yorba  mantillas — it  had  belonged  to  the  beautiful 
aunt  for  whom  this  house  had  been  built  by  the  husband 
she  scorned — and  wore  it  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 
Trennahan  had  shaken  with  a  fit  of  inward  laughter,  but 
had  compelled  his  eyes  to  express  only  admiration  and 
approval. 

Other  dowagers  sat  below,  some  bediamonded  and  others 
not:  the  "old  Southern  Set"  lived  on  diminishing  in 
comes;  new  industries  were  decreasing  the  values  of  the 
old.  They  had  lost  none  of  their  pride,  but  philosophy 
had  mellowed  them,  and  they  were  honestly  grateful  for 
such  splendid  diversion;  and  Mrs.  Hofer's  suppers  cost  a 
small  fortune,  even  in  San  Francisco.  Their  offspring 
cared  as  little  for  traditions  as  for  supper,  and  had  married 

484 


ANCESTORS 

or  were  marrying  into  the  newer  sets,  rapidly  obliterating 
what  lines  were  left.  As  for  the  new,  they  were  legion, 
and  not  to  be  distinguished  by  the  casual  eye  from  those 
that  traced  their  descent  to  the  crumbling  mansions  of 
South  Park  and  Rincon  Hill;  and  they  had  the  earnest 
co-operation  of  the  best  of  the  world's  milliners.  The  pick 
of  Bohemia  was  also  present,  those  that  were  distinguish 
ing  themselves  in  art  and  letters,  or  even  on  the  stage,  for 
Mrs.  Hofer  had  learned  some  of  her  lessons  in  London. 
All  that  were  now  looked  upon  as  county  families,  spend 
ing  as  they  did  but  one  or  two  months  of  the  year  in  the  city, 
had  come  to  town  for  this  ball,  but  the  country  towns  were 
represented  only  by  Gwynne  and  Isabel  and  the  Tom 
Coltons.  The  group  of  men  so  desperately  interested  in 
the  municipal  affairs  of  the  city  disliked  and  distrusted 
Colton;  but  Mrs.  Leslie  had  been  born  on  Rincon  Hill, 
and  all  doors,  old  and  new,  were  open  to  her  daughter. 
Isabel  caught  a  glimpse  of  Anabel  among  the  dancers,  in  a 
gown  of  primrose  satin  almost  the  color  of  her  hair,  and  a 
little  diamond  tiara  made  from  some  old  stones  of  her 
mother's. 

"Well !"  exclaimed  Isabel.  " What  do  you  think  of  us  ? 
Is  it  not  a  wonderful  scene  ?" 

Gwynne  nodded.  "All  that  is  wanting  is  a  background 
of  caballeros  in  the  gallery,  silk  and  ruffles,  and  hair  tied 
with  ribbons.  But  I  suppose  the  old  gentlemen  objected. 
There  must  be  some  limit  to  Mrs.  Hofer's  powers  of  per 
suasion.  But — yes — it  is  a  wonderful  scene,  and  you  are  a 
wonderful  people  to  take  so  much  troub  e." 

The  waltz  finished  and  Mrs.  Hofer  bore  down  upon 
them.  She  wore  white  brocade,  the  flowers  outlined  with 
jewels,  shimmering  under  a  cloud  of  tulle,  and  her  neck 

485 


ANCESTORS 

and  her  fashionably  dressed  head  were  hardly  to  be  seen 
for  the  rubies  and  diamonds  that  bound  them.  She  was 
fairly  palpitating  with  youth  and  triumph,  and  delight 
in  the  dance,  and  although  without  beauty  or  a  patrician 
outline,  there  was  no  more  radiant  vision  in  the  room. 
She  reproached  Isabel  for  being  late,  informed  her  that  she 
had  ordered  all  the  best  men  to  keep  dances  for  her,  sum 
moned  several,  and  then  bore  ofFGwynne  to  introduce  him 
to  the  prettiest  of  the  girls.  In  a  few  moments  Isabel  was 
engaged  for  every  dance  before  supper;  she  had  given  the 
cotillon  to  Gwynne. 

She  had  realized  immediately,  that  upon  such  a  scene, 
with  such  a  background,  she  could  hope  to  make  no  such 
overwhelming  impression  as  had  fallen  to  the  lot  of  Helena 
Belmont,  surrounded  by  buff-colored  walls  and  a  small 
exclusive  society — for  the  most  part  disdainful  of  dress. 
Nevertheless,  she  wras  soon  pleasurably  aware  that  she 
was  the  subject  of  much  comment,  not  only  in  the  gal 
lery,  but  among  the  hundreds  of  smart  young  girls  and 
women  on  the  floor,  the  men  that  danced,  and  those 
that  supported  the  walls.  The  old  beaux,  left  over  from 
the  days  when  Nina  Randolph  and  Guadalupe  Hath 
away  had  reigned,  who  had  put  the  stamp  of  an  almost 
incoherent  approval  upon  the  dazzling  Helena,  that  famous 
night  of  her  debut,  were  dead  and  dust;  but  another 
group,  including  the  quartet  that  had  as  promptly  de 
clared  themselves  the  suitors  and  slaves  of  the  exacting 
beauty,  were  present  to-night,  critically  regarding  the 
debutantes.  Their  comparisons  were  less  impassioned 
than  those  of  their  old  mentors,  for  they  were  tired;  they 
had  disposed  of  much  of  their  superfluous  enthusiasm  in 
the  increased  difficulties  of  making  an  income,  since  the 

486 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

brief  reign  of  a  heartless  witch,  whom  they  still  remem 
bered  with  an  occasional  pang  of  sentiment,  but  more 
gratitude  that  they  had  not  had  her  as  well  as  fortune  to 
subdue.  None  had  prospered  exceedingly,  but  all  had 
done  well.  They  were  still  in  their  forties,  but  as  gray  as 
their  fathers  had  been  at  sixty;  indeed,  looked  older  than 
Trennahan,  who  had  disdained  to  add  to  his  own  and  his 
wife's  fortunes,  and  lived  merely  to  enjoy  life;  and  they 
would  far  rather  have  been  in  bed.  But  three  of  them 
were  indulgent  family  men.  Eugene  Fort  had  clung  to  the 
single  state,  but  the  others  were  contributing  one  or  more 
daughters  to  the  evening's  entertainment;  and  they  had 
all  drifted  naturally  together  to  discuss  the  new  beauties 
before  retreating  to  the  haven  at  the  top  of  the  house 
where  there  was  a  billiard-table  and  much  good  whiskey 
and  tobacco.  They  were  disputing  over  the  respective 
claims  of  Inez  Trennahan,  who  was  a  replica  of  the 
California  Favontas  of  a  century  ago,  and  Catahna  Over 
with  the  Indian  blood  on  her  high  cheek-bones,  and  her 
mouth  like  an  Indian's  bow,  when  Isabel  descended  the 
stairs.  They  promptly  gave  her  the  palm,  although  they 
did  not  turn  pale,  nor  lose  their  breath. 

"The  grand  style,"  said  Trennahan.  "I  wonder  will 
the  home-bred  youth  appreciate  it  ?  In  your  day  she 
would  have  had  a  better  chance,  but  most  of  these  worthy 
young  men,  when  they  have  been  to  college  at  all,  have 
patronized  Stanford  or  Berkeley;  in  other  words,  never 
been  out  of  the  State,  and,  no  doubt,  prefer  the  more 
vivid,  frivolous,  and  essentially  modern  product." 

"  If  it  lay  with  us,"  said  Alan  Rush,  sadly.  "  But  it  is  as 
you  say.  She  will  frighten  most  of  the  young  fellows.  By 
Jove,  she  looks  as  if  she  had  danced  at  Washington's  first 

487 


ANCESTORS 

ball.     But  that's  it.     Nothing  free  and  easy,  there.     It's 
no  longer  the  fashion  to  be  too  aristocratic." 

But  Isabel,  if  she  did  not  create  a  furore  among  the 
young  men,  who  would  have  thought  such  a  performance 
beneath  their  dignity,  was,  at  least,  generally  admitted  to 
be  "Pretty  well  as  stunning  a  girl  as  you  might  see  in  a 
long  day's  journey,"  "a  regular  ripper,"  "the  handsomest 
of  the  bunch,"  and  as  far  as  "mere  looks  went"  the  "pick 
of  the  lot."  The  girls  viewed  her  with  no  great  favor,  but 
the  majority  of  the  women,  especially  those  in  the  galleries, 
sustained  the  verdict  of  the  men;  and  the  Leader,  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  descended  and  introduced  herself, 
claimed  relationship,  and  graciously  intimated  that  if 
Isabel  cared  to  join  the  cotillon  clubs  and  the  skating- 
rink — 'The  skating-rink — an  exclusive  yet  hospitable  wing 
would  be  lifted.  A  younger  brother  of  Mr.  Hofer,  who 
had  also  multiplied  his  paternal  million,  devoted  himself 
to  her  seriously,  and  Gwynne,  who  soon  had  enough  of 
dancing,  gracefully  renounced  his  claims  to  the  german. 
They  had  one  waltz  together  and  then  he  did  not  see  her 
again  until  the  hour  of  departure,  when  he  stood  in  the 
hall  and  watched  her  descend  the  winding  white  stair  be 
tween  the  roses.  He  thought  her  a  charming  picture  in 
her  long  white  coat,  with  a  lace  scarf  over  her  head,  and 
her  arms  full  of  costly  toys.  When  she  reached  his  side 
she  ordered  him  to  put  her  favors  into  the  pockets  of  his 
overcoat,  and  keep  his  hand  on  his  pistol,  as  she  would  not 
risk  losing  one  of  them,  much  less  her  jewels.  Her  eyes 
were  very  bright,  and  her  cheeks  deeply  flushed,  but 
were  the  cause  a  fully  satisfied  ambition,  he  could  only 
guess. 


XXXIV 

THE  hour  was  four,  and  after  they  had  said  their  last 
good-night  to  the  guests  whose  homes  lay  between  the 
Hofer  mansion  and  their  own,  they  met  but  one  foot  pas 
senger  as  belated  as  themselves.  This  was  a  big  man 
that  loomed  suddenly  out  of  the  fog.  Isabel  screamed 
and  ran  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  Gwynne,  who 
had  obediently  taken  out  his  pistol,  half  raised  it.  But  the 
man  laughed. 

"I'm  on  the  lookout  for  thim  meself,"  he  said,  in  a  rich 
brogue.  "Good  luck  to  yees." 

As  they  let  themselves  into  the  house,  Gwynne  threw 
his  hat  and  coat  on  the  settle  in  the  vestibule,  and  then 
ran  his  hand  through  his  hair  and  rubbed  the  back  of  his 
head,  a  habit  of  his  when  he  had  a  suggestion  to  make. 

"I  remember  we  were  going  to  sit  up  the  rest  of  that 
night — or  morning — after  Arcot,"  he  said.  "Are  you  very 
tired  r" 

"Tired  ?  I  shall  not  sleep  a  wink  for  hours.  The  fire 
is  sure  to  be  laid  in  the  tower-room." 

They  went  into  the  small  circular  room,  furnished  in 
several  shades  of  green,  that  Isabel  had  retained  for  her 
own  use,  and  while  she  shook  down  her  skirts  Gwynne 
applied  a  match  to  the  coals.  The  raw  morning  air  had 
penetrated  the  house,  too  old-fashioned  to  have  a  furnace, 
but  wooden  walls  are  quickly  heated.  When  Gwynne 

489 


A      N      C       E       S T_      O       R       S 

had  removed  the  blower  several  times  and  satisfied  himself 
that  the  hard  coals  would  burn,  he  resumed  the  perpen 
dicular. 

He  looked  doubtfully  at  Isabel,  who  was  still  wrapped  in 
her  cloak,  and  had  elevated  her  feet,  covered  with  the  long 
carriage-boots,  to  the  fender.  "Sha'n't  you  take  off  those 
things  ?"  he  asked.  "You  don't  look  as  if  you  meant  to 
stay." 

"You  can  take  off  the  boots,  but  I'll  keep  on  my  coat  for 
a  few  moments/' 

He  laughed  as  he  knelt  again.  "I  certainly  am  getting 
broken  in.  I  have  known  Englishwomen  to  pull  off  their 
husband's  hunting-boots  after  a  hard  day's  work — -" 

"The  idea!" 

"Very  good  idea.     Do  you  mean  that  you  would  not?" 

"Well,  I  might,  as  a  return  favor.  You  need  not  take 
all  night  to  pull  ofF  mine." 

"You  might,  at  least,  let  virtue  be  its  own  reward.  It's 
not  often  it  has  the  chance." 

"Well,  get  up  and  don't  be  an  idiot.  I  suppose  you 
have  been  flirting  in  the  conservatory  all  the  evening  and 
haven't  had  time  to  readjust  your  mood." 

"Mrs.  Hofer  has  no  conservatory.  Great  oversight. 
But  I  did  sit  out  a  dance  or  two  in  that  room  with  the 
immense  window — 

"With  whom?" 

"  I  have  forgotten  her  name.    Will  you  have  a  cigarette  ?" 

"No,  but  you  may  smoke  if  you  like." 

He  had  settled  himself  in  a  deep  chair  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  hearth.  There  was  a  silence  of  nearly  ten 
minutes,  until  Isabel,  suddenly  removing  her  coat,  brought 
Gwynne  out  of  his  reverie. 

490 


ANCESTORS 

"I  cannot  say  that  to-night  was  in  any  sense  a  repetition 
of  my  own  experience  at  Arcot,"  he  said,  abruptly.  "That 
night — I  have  tried  to  forget  it — I  had  enough  adulation 
to  turn  any  man's  head.  I  fancy  it  was  pretty  well  turned, 
and  that  made  the  wrench  during  the  small  hours  the  more 
severe.  Still,  it  has  been  an  interesting  evening,  and  one 
or  two  things  happened." 

"What?"  Isabel  was  full  of  her  own  experiences,  but 
too  much  of  a  woman  to  betray  the  fact  when  a  man  wanted 
to  talk  about  himself. 

"I  danced  for  a  while,  but  I  had  had  exercise  enough 
during  the  day,  and  didn't  care  particularly  about  it. 
Besides,  all  the  girls  I  danced  with,  and  that  one  I  sat  up 
stairs  with  for  a  few  minutes,  not  only  talked  my  head  off, 
but  quizzed  me,  and  I  did  not  understand  it.  To  my 
amazement,  I  learned  not  long  after  that  they  know  who  I 
am.  Can  you  imagine  how  it  got  out  ?" 

"They  know  everything.  It  is  an  old  saying  that  the 
San  Francisco  girls  scent  a  stranger  the  moment  he  leaves 
the  train  at  the  Oakland  mole,  and  know  all  about  him 
before  he  has  registered.  The  obscurest  knight  could  not 
hide  himself  in  this  town.  Rosewater  alone  saved  you  so 
long.  How  did  they  quiz  you  ?" 

"Each  began  at  once  to  talk  about  my  'distinguished 
relative,  Elton  Gwynne.'  I  may  be  more  dense  than 
most,  or  perhaps  I  was  merely  bored,  but  I  assumed  that 
they  thought  I  was  his  brother  and  knew  his  whereabouts. 
When  supper  was  half  over,  and  I  was  congratulating 
myself  that  I  had  got  out  of  the  cotillon,  even  with  you,  for 
it  meant  dancing  with  a  lot  of  others,  my  host  took  me 
firmly  by  the  arm  and  marched  me  up-stairs.  He  in 
formed  me  that  he  was  'bored  stiff/  could  see  that  I  was, 
3'  491 


ANCESTORS 

and  had  'coralled'  a  few  more  choice  spirits.  We  went, 
not  to  the  smoking  or  billiard-room,  but  to  his  own  bed 
room,  and  here  I  found  four  or  five  more  of  your  strenuous 
millionaires,  the  reform  editor,  and  the  lawyer  that  looks 
like  a  bull-dog  waiting  for  the  word  to  spring  at  the  throat 
of  the  Boss  and  his  whole  vile  crew. 

"Here  we  sat  and  smoked  until  the  air  inside  was  as  thick 
as  the  fog  that  blotted  out  the  lights  of  the  city  and  towns 
opposite.  Of  course  the  talk  was  of  the  rotten  state  of  San 
Francisco.  I  never  heard  the  whole  story  before,  and  it 
made  my  hair  stand  on  end.  I  knew  that  vice  flaunted 
itself  more  openly  here  than  elsewhere,  but  I  did  not  guess 
that  the  thousand  and  one  establishments  of  every  sort, 
from  the  lowest  negro  dive  under  the  sidewalk,  and  the 
snares  for  the  very  young  of  both  sexes,  straight  up  to  the 
most  gaudy  *  French  restaurants/  as  well  as  Chinatown, 
Barbary  coast,  and  all  the  rest,  paid  tribute  to  the  gang 
of  political  ruffians  that  have  got  control  of  the  city.  No 
wonder  the  last  have  developed  a  preternatural  sharpness 
that  makes  it  next  to  impossible  to  bring  the  charges  home, 
for  they  will  all  be  rich  enough  in  time  to  move  to  Europe 
and  buy  up  such  salable  scions  of  improverished  houses 
as  happen  to  be  on  the  market.  The  thing  is  as  well 
known  as  I  know  that  you  are  my  third  cousin,  but,  al 
though  the  second-rate  grafters  are  brazen  enough,  it  is 
not  worth  while  to  attack  them  until  the  Boss  is  done  for, 
and  so  far  he  has  proved  much  too  clever  to  be  caught. 
A  college  man,  although  of  low  origin,  and  an  accomplished 
lawyer  of  a  sort,  he  pockets  huge  sums  from  these  dis 
reputable  establishments,  for  himself  and  his  minion,  the 
mayor,  and  calls  them  attorney's  fees.  Naturally  the 
panderers  to  vice  won't  admit  they  are  blackmailed:  they 

492 


ANCESTORS 

are  between  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea;  if  the  fight  came 
on  in  earnest,  and  they  gave  evidence  against  the  Boss, 
and  the  Boss  won,  he  would  clean  them  all  out  and  put 
others  in.  The  Reformers,  if  they  won,  would  clean 
them  out  too;  so,  naturally,  they  hold  their  tongues  and 
hope  this  reform  movement  will  peter  out  as  so  many  others 
have  done.  So  do  the  Board  of  Supervisors  whom  the 
Boss  also  owns  and  through  whom  he  blackmails  the  great 
corporations.  But — and  when  they  had  got  to  this  point 
in  the  talk  there  was  an  abrupt  pause,  and  then  Hofer 
turned  to  me  and  said:  'Even  if  you  don't  come  in  and 
join  us,  which  I  always  hope  you  will  do,  I  know  a  man  that 
can  keep  his  mouth  shut  when  I  see  him.  So  fire  away.' 
"And  then  they  discussed  the  fact  that  one  of  their  num 
ber  had  recently  gone  to  Washington  to  ask  the  President  to 
send  out  an  able  man  of  the  Government  Secret  Service; 
they  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  this  request  will 
be  complied  with.  With  sufficient  evidence  they  would 
then  make  a  quiet  crusade  in  the  hope  of  rousing  public 
spirit  to  the  extent  of  forcing  in  a  grand  jury  that  could 
not  be  bought  by  the  Boss.  Needless  to  say  he  has  con 
trolled  every  grand  jury  that  has  met  during  his  reign, 
and  one  might  as  well  hope  to  convict  a  wind  for  unroofing 
a  house,  even  were  he  not  master  of  every  legal  trick  him 
self,  and  had  he  taken  less  pains  to  cover  up  his  tracks. 
In  this  detective  lies  their  chief  hope  at  present;  but  what 
a  slender  hope  it  is,  when  you  consider  the  devil-may-care 
character  of  these  San  Franciscans,  who  would  dance  on 
the  edge  of  hell,  with  equal  nonchalance,  if  only  there 
were  a  screen  between.  There  is  not  an  outstanding 
excuse  for  forming  a  vigilance  committee,  as  there  was 
during  the  Dennis  Kearney- Anti-Chinese  riots  of  1879, 

493 


ANCESTORS 

and  there  is  no  such  aroused  public  spirit  and  indignation 
as  sustained  the  Vigilantes  of  the  Fifties.  These  rascals 
take  good  care  to  be  non-sensational  in  their  methods, 
and  what  the  San  Franciscan  doesn't  see  doesn't  worry 
him.  xThe  city  is  rich,  prosperous,  famous,  tourists  are 
.  pouring  in,  the  best  in  drama  and  opera  comes  yearly — to 
be  presented  in  fire-traps  whose  owners  pay  toll  to  the  Boss; 
they  already  have  the  handsomest  hotels  in  the  world,  the 
finest  cooking,  climate;  even  earthquakes — severe  ones — 
have  moved  elsewhere.  What  can  you  do  with  a  people 
like  that  ?  They  are  fairly  insolent  in  their  sense  of  se 
curity.  Let  the  political  gang  make  their  share.  There 
is  enough  for  all.  But  don't  bother  us.  Let  us  be  happy. 
Five  la  bagatelle.  There  you  have  the  motto  of  San 
Francisco.\. 

"By  the  time  they  had  threshed  the  subject  out,  ex 
plaining  details  and  plans  to  me,  as  if  I  were  already  one 
of  them,  I  was  feeling  pretty  uncomfortable.  Naturally,  I 
blurted  out  that  I  could  no  longer  accept  their  hospitality 
and  confidence  on  false  pretences,  and  told  them  who  I 
was.  Each  got  up  in  turn,  solemnly  held  out  his  hand,  and 
said,  'Shake.'  Then  Hofer  informed  me  that  they  had 
all  been  practically  certain  for  some  time  that  I  was  myself; 
being  good  enough  to  add:  'We  knew  there  couldn't  be 
more  than  one  of  you;  and  we  are  also  able  to  put  two 
and  two  together,  occasionally.  Before  we  thought  of  it, 
however,  you  struck  us  all  as  being  a  man  accustomed  to 
homage.  Later  we  discovered  that  you  were  choke  full  of 
seven  different  kinds  of  ability,  and  it  wag  then  that  the 
twos  began  to  move  towards  each  other  on  the  board;  and 
we  decided  that  we  must  have  you  here,  right  here  in  San 
Francisco.  What  can  a  man  like  you  find  in  a  God-for- 

494 


ANCESTOR^ 

saken  place  like  Rosewater,  anyhow?  The  Eggopolis! 
You  can't  afford  to  hail  from  there;  it  would  stick  to  you 
for  the  rest  of  your  life.  And  we  have  just  got  to  have  you. 
We  may  have  some  of  the  ablest  lawyers  in  the  country  in 
San  Francisco,  and  a  few  honest  ones,  but  we  can  accom 
modate  one  more;  and  a  man  that  will  throw  over  a  great 
title  and  an  already  won  name  for  the  sake  of  standing 
on  his  own  legs — that's  the  sort  of  stuff  the  old  pioneers 
were  made  of.  So,  here  you  must  come,  and  stand  shoulder 
to  shoulder  with  us/ 

"I  replied  that  I  must  finish  my  law  studies  with  Judge 
Leslie  first,  and  have  some  little  practice  under  his  direction; 
that  I  intended  to  go  in  for  politics,  but  that  for  some  years 
all  the  power  over  men  I  could  acquire  would  be  through 
the  law — and  I  had  remarkable  chances  for  contact  in  and 
about  Rosewater;  where,  moreover,  if  they  learned  who  I 
was  it  would  not  matter  much.  It  might  be  quite  other 
wise  in  the  city.  To  this  they  agreed:  that  is  to  say,  that  I 
should  remain  in  Rosewater  for  six  months  or  a  year  longer; 
but  they  asked  me  to  promise  that  if  any  great  emergency 
arose,  in  which  they  believed  I  could  be  of  use,  I  would 
come  at  their  call.  And  I  promised." 

He  rose  and  moved  restlessly  about  the  room.  "Upon 
my  word!"  he  exclaimed;  and  Isabel,  who  had  not  taken 
her  eyes  off  him,  although  he  had  addressed  the  greater 
part  of  his  talk  to  the  fire,  noted  that  he  was  paler  than 
usual — and  that  his  eyes  were  very  bright;  "upon  my 
word,  I  really  do  feel  more  elated  than  on  that  night  at 
Arcot.  That  small  devoted  band  of  men! — most  of  them 
with  millions  they  might  take  to  the  most  civilized  capitals 
of  the  world  and  spend  in  splendid  enjoyment — I  never 
have  met  such  patriotism!  It  is  magnificent!  And  to 

495 


A_ N_  _C_    E       S    JT       0       R     _S 

find  it  out  here  in  this  stranded  city — that  fascinates  the 
very  heart  out  of  you,  by-the-way — I  don't  know  that  I 
wonder  so  much — I  believe  I  shall  succumb  myself  in 
time — it  is  like  being  on  another  planet.  At  any  rate  I 
hated  myself  to-night  for  any  sickness  of  spirit  I  may  have 
permitted  to  linger — for  a  while  my  very  personality  seemed 
to  melt  into  what  may  prove  an  even  greater  cause  than 
all  that  appears  on  the  surface.  The  present  California 
may  be  merely  the  nucleus  of  a  great  future  Western 
civilization,  so  unlike  the  Eastern  that  no  doubt  it  will 
dissever  itself  in  time  and  breed  still  wider  divergences; 
until  the  old  generic  term  American  will  no  longer  apply 
to  both.  Moreover,  it  already  feels  that  it  owns  the 
Pacific,  and  faces  the  Orient  alone.  And  to  rebuild  this 
city — you  have  seen  the  Burnham  plans — transform  it 
into  the  most  beautiful  city  of  the  modern  world — to  give 
it  a  great,  instead  of  a  merely  brilliant  and  erratic  civili 
zation — a  perfect  administration — what  dreamers!  What 
imagination!  It  is  an  inspiration  to  come  into  contact 
with  an  idealism  that  money,  and  power,  and  daily  con 
tact  with  the  mean  and  base  in  human  nature — 

"  I  could  love  you  I"  cried  Isabel.  "  If  you  say  any  more, 
I  believe  I  shall  kiss  you  again." 

"If  you  do/'  said  Gwynne,  deliberately,  "I  shall  nei 
ther  pinch  you  nor  push  you  away.  But  you  may  regret 
it,  nevertheless." 

He  threw  himself  once  more  into  his  chair  and  clasped 
his  hands  behind  his  head.  "It  is  an  astonishing  fact," 
he  said — "This — I  was  reading  the  history  of  the  Kearney 
riots,  only  the  other  day.  The  commentator  was  very 
severe  on  the  Irish  and  German  element  that  imperilled 
the  city  for  purely  personal  reasons;  that  was  responsible 

496 


ANCESTORS 

for  the  most  remarkable  and  reprehensible  of  all  the  State 
Constitutions.  That  was  not  quite  thirty  years  ago. 
Whether  any  of  these  men,  who  are  mainly  of  Irish  or 
German  descent,  are  the  sons  or  grandsons  of  any  of  those 
old  Sand  -  lot  agitators  I  have  no  means  of  knowing; 
probably  not,  their  fortunes  were  no  doubt  already  in  the 
making,  and  the  founders  had  graduated  from  the  class 
that  went  to  sand-lot  meetings  and  shouted,  'The  Chinese 
must  go/  But  it  is  certainly  one  of  the  oddest  evolutions 
in  history  that  it  should  be  the  descendants  of  that  foreign 
element  alone  that  take  any  real  interest  in  this  city;  that 
are  ardent  to  reform  it,  beautify  it;  that  are  willing  to 
devote  their  time  and  a  good  part  of  their  fortunes  to  that 
end.  So  far,  although  I  have  met  in  the  clubs  many  old 
gentlemen  of  charming  manners  and  prehistoric  descent — 
that  is  from  '49,  or  even  ths  more  pretentious  East  and 
South;  and,  at  all  sorts  of  places,  their  sons — who  are  either 
building  up  new  fortunes  or  spending  old  ones — there  is 
not  one,,  so  far  as  my  observation  serves  me,  that  has 
lifted  a  finger  to  fling  off  this  octopus.  Hofer  says  they 
have  even  ceased  to  grumble.  Their  incomes  are  assured. 
Some  are  merely  well  off,  others  immensely  wealthy— 
with  a  sufficiency  invested  elsewhere.  All  can  command 
about  the  same  amount  of  luxury,  however  their  establish 
ments  may  vary  in  splendor.  And  nothing  can  exceed  the 
luxury  of  their  Clubs.  The  older  men  at  least — and  they 
are  not  so  old — have  subsided  into  a  slothful  content  that 
makes  them  a  cross  between  a  higher  sort  of  carnivorous 
animal  and  the  tacit  supporters  of  the  criminals  in  power. 
These  friends  of  mine,  whose  fathers  may  or  may  not  have 
listened  to  Kearney  in  the  Sand-lots,  are  worth  the  whole 
lot  of  your  ancient  aristocracy — hybrid,  anyhow — and  if  I 

497 


INCEST       0       R       S 

do  'hang  out  my  shingle'  here  in  San  Francisco,  they  are 
the  only  ones  I  care  anything  about  knowing.  They  are  the 
only  real  Americans  I  have  met,  for  that  matter — accord 
ing  to  your  own  standards —  He  broke  off  abruptly  and 
leaned  forward,  smiling  at  his  companion.  "I  meant  to 
ask  you  as  soon  as  we  got  home  to  tell  me  all  about  your 
first  great  party  in  your  beloved  city,  but  I  have  been  led 
away  by  my  natural  egotism.  You  were,  by  general  ac 
claim,  I  fancy,  the  beauty  of  the  evening.  Did  you  enjoy 
it  all  as  much  as  you  expected  ?" 

"I  fancy  I  should  have  enjoyed  it  more  if  I  had  been  up 
stairs  with  you.  I  found  it  more  of  an  effort  than  I  had 
imagined  to  make  conversation  with  those  young  men. 
Of  course  I  enjoyed  being  openly  admired  and  besought 
for  dances.  Who  wouldn't  ?  But  I  never  deluded  my 
self  for  a  moment  that  I  was  anything  approaching  those 
old-time  belles.  As  the  conditions  have  passed  away,  how 
ever,  my  vanity  doesn't  suffer.  At  all  events  I  am  going  to 
carry  out  my  program  and  rush  about  to  everything  that  is 
given  this  week,  to  forget  Rosewater,  every  aspiration,  all 
that  ever  happened  to  me.  Every  girl  should  have  one 
girl's  good  time,  and  although  mine  is  belated,  it  would 
be  silly  to  let  it  pass.  Besides,  I  am  curious  to  see  if  I 
really  can — well,  delude  myself." 

"So  am  I!  I  have  an  idea  you  won't.  You  are  quite 
different  from  all  those  girls,  who  are  at  the  same  time  the 
brightest  and  the  most  frivolous,  the  most  feminine  and 
the  most  modern,  the  most  daring  and  the  most  indifferent, 
I  have  ever  met.  Those  that  have  been  as  carefully 
brought  up  as  our  ninetieth  cousin,  Inez  Trennahan,  are 
simply  moulds  for  the  future  to  run  into.  There  were 
several  young  persons  that  looked  as  if  they  might  go 

498 


ANCESTORS 

pretty  far  in  a  conservatory — perhaps  that  is  the  reason 
Mrs.  Hofer  has  none.  She  appears  to  have  Irish  virtue 
in  excess,  and  I  expect  the  larky  would  get  short  shrift 
from  her.  But  you — you  are  quite  unlike  them  all." 

"I  am  a  Californian,"  said  Isabel,  defiantly. 

"Yes,  but  of  a  very  exclusive  sort — to  say  nothing  of  the 
peculiar  circumstances  that  were  bound  to  breed  serious 
ness  of  mind.  And  you  have  quite  a  distinguished  collec 
tion  of  real  ancestors,  and  intellect  instead  of  mere  clever 
ness.  It  is  only  once  in  a  while  that  your — let  me  whisper 
it — Western  frankness  and  ingenuousness  leap  out — the 
impulsiveness,  the  electric  passion.  When  a  certain 
amount  of  readjustment  has  gone  on  inside  of  you  and  your 
more  natural  elements  work  their  way  up  and  take  posses 
sion,  I  really  believe  I  shall  fall  in  love  with  you,  and 
marry  you  out  of  hand — if  you  remain  as  beautiful  as  you 
are  to-night. " 

"All  right,"  said  Isabel,  pretending  to  stifle  a  yawn. 
"That  would  be  interesting.  All  the  clocks  are  booming 
something,  Let  us  go  out  and  see  if  the  sun  is  rising." 

She  wrapped  herself  in  her  cloak  once  more,  and  they 
climbed  to  the  crest  of  the  hill  and  watched  the  sun  rise 
behind  the  Berkeley  mountains  and  bathe  San  Francisco 
in  trembling  fire.  It  routed  what  was  left  of  the  fog,  al 
though  for  a  time  the  walls  and  waters  of  the  Golden  Gate 
looked  darker  than  before,  and  Tamalpais  was  a  moun 
tain  of  onyx.  In  a  few  moments  the  smoke  that  wrapped 
the  San  Francisco  day  in  a  brown  perpetual  haze  began  to 
ascend  first  from  the  little  chimneys  and  then  from  the 
great  stacks.  But  until  then  every  steeple,  every  tower, 
the  great  piles  of  stone  and  brick  in  the  valley,  the  old 
gardens  full  of  eucalyptus-trees  and  weeping  willows,  the 

499 


A      N       C       E       S       T       0       R       S 

strange  assortment  of  architectures  on  Nob  Hill,  even  the 
rows  of  houses  on  the  tapering  half-circle  of  hills  beyond 
the  valley,  miles  away,  stood  out  as  bright  and  sharp  and 
shadowless  as  if  caught  and  imprisoned  in  a  crystal  ball. 
It  was  the  drifting  smoke  that  seemed  to  bind  all  together 
and  make  the  city  fit  for  humanity. 

Gwynne  pointed  to  a  spot  far  to  the  southeast,  in  the 
valley  between  Market  Street — the  wide  diagonal  highway 
that  cut  the  city  in  two,  and  ran  from  the  ferries  almost  to 
the  foot  of  Twin  Peaks — and  the  high  mound  known  as 
Rincon  Hill.  " There,  he  said  "are  the  hovels  and  shops 
that  cover  the  block  belong  ng  to  my  mother  and  myself, 
and  that  is  to  make  us  rich.  Half  is  practically  sold,  and 
the  proceeds,  and  the  money  raised  on  the  other  half,  will 
erect  a  building  that  is  to  cost  some  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  The  insurance  rates  will  be  enormous,  but  even 
so  the  income  should  be  really  a  great  one.  If  all  goes 
well,  the  foundations — of  reinforced  concrete,  although 
they  still  laugh  at  earthquakes — but  Mr.  Colton  is  a 
monster  of  caution — will  be  laid  in  about  six  weeks,  and 
then  I  shall  watch  the  steel  framework  rise  with  a  very 
considerable  interest." 

"That  means  the  beginnings  of  a  millionaire.  Do  you 
really  care  so  much  to  be  rich  ?" 

"I  know  the  value  of  money,"  said  Gwynne,  dryly. 
"I  have  no  intention  of  buying  men  after  the  fashion  of 
your  friend  Tom  Colton,  but  it  is  a  mighty  good  back 
ground  for  personality.  Now  you  had  better  go  in  and 
get  some  beauty  sleep." 


XXXV 

MISS  MONTGOMERY  called  as  Isabel  and  Gwynne 
were  sitting  down  to  luncheon  at  two  o'clock.  She 
was  not  in  the  best  of  tempers,  for  she  had  renewed  her 
youth  briefly  the  night  before,  her  old  admirers  had  shown 
her  much  gallant  attention,  and  if  she  had  gone  home  with 
a  song  in  her  heart  and  a  flame  in  her  eyes,  she  had  been 
but  the  more  conscious  of  the  wooden  spoon  upon  awaken 
ing.  She  had  risen  with  no  very  keen  regret  for  her  vanish 
ed  claims  upon  men  long  since  married  and  consoled,  for 
she  had  never  been  what  is  called  a  marrying  girl,  but 
with  her  mind  inclined  to  gloomy  meditation  upon  lost 
opportunities  far  more  dear.  She  had  never  ceased  to 
believe  that,  the  fates  conspiring,  she  might  have  become 
one  of  the  great  musicians  of  the  world;  for  although  she 
was  willing  to  admit  the  defect  of  will  that  had  reduced 
her  to  the  ranks,  she  had  not  grasped  the  historic  fact  that 
the  born  artist  accomplishes  his  fulfilment  in  spite  of  all 
obstacles,  imagined  or  real.  Her  obstacles  had  been  pure 
ly  sentimental,  for  her  family  were  commonplace  selfish 
people  not  worth  considering,  and,  her  endowment  being 
just  short  of  distinguished,  a  misplaced  sense  of  duty  and 
the  stultifying  influences  of  her  home  were  responsible 
for  her  profession  as  caterer  at  the  age  of  thirty-six.  Her 
people  had  belonged  to  the  type  that  held  in  aristocratic 
disgust  the  "woman  who  did  things,"  "showed  herself  to 

501 


A_ N_     C       E       S       T       0       R S 

the  public";  moreover,  as  Isabel  had  told  Gwynne,  they 
worshipped  the  flower-like  artistic  young  creature,  and 
would  let  neither  the  world  nor  man  have  aught  of  her. 
She  was  twenty-eight  when  her  family  died,  and  knowing 
that  as  a  music-teacher  she  could  not  hope  to  compete 
with  finished  instructors,  she  had  looked  ever  her  other 
talents  and  found  that  the  only  one  which  promised  im 
mediate  returns  was  a  certain  knack  for  sauces  and 
sweets.  All  her  friends  rushed  to  her  assistance,  and  while 
broiling  over  a  hot  stove,  stirring  jam,  wished  that  dear 
Anne  were  not  so  proud  and  would  accept  a  check  with 
out  any  fuss.  But  Miss  Montgomery  quickly  graduated 
from  this  amateur  stage.  She  set  herself  deliberately  to 
work  to  become  a  chef,  and,  from  offerings  to  the  Womans' 
Exchange,  she  was  soon  supplying  choice  dishes  for 
luncheons,  and  finally  entire  dinners.  She  had  a  warm 
friend  in  the  then  Leader  of  San  Francisco  Society,  and 
her  own  cleverness  and  indomitable  perseverance  did  the 
rest.  She  sometimes  reflected  that  if  she  had  found  the 
iron  in  her  nature  sooner  she  might  have  been  fiddling 
in  Vienna,;  but  perhaps  her  highest  gift  had  really  been 
culinary,  perhaps  she  needed  the  enthusiastic  encourage 
ment  which  she  found  on  all  sides  when  she  embraced 
that  appealing  art;  at  all  events  she  succeeded,  was  educat 
ing  a  promising  orphan  relative,  and  laying  by  for  her  old 
age.  Another  friend,  no  doubt,  was  the  massive  family 
silver  which  had  escaped  the  wreck.  Many  of  the  new 
people,  Mrs.  Hofer  among  others,  did  not  care  for  the 
responsibility  of  a  luxury  so  tempting  to  thieves,  and  for 
which  they  had  no  innate  predilection;  they  were  more  than 
willing  to  pay  a  reasonable  sum  for  ancestral  decorations 
upon  state  occasions,  and  to  dine  from  artistic  plated 

502 


ANCESTORS 

ware  meanwhiles.  Not  but  that  there  was  a  sufficiency  of 
solid  bullion  to  be  seen  on  many  a  San  Francisco  table,  and 
there  were  several  golden  services  in  the  city;  but  rich 
people  have  all  sorts  of  economical  kinks,  and  Miss 
Montgomery  found  this  one  profitable.  Another  thing, 
no  doubt,  that  had  contributed  to  her  success,  was  the 
business-like  attitude  she  had  assumed  as  soon  as  she 
felt  herself  a  professional.  She  accompanied  her  refec 
tions  to  the  kitchen  door,  although  the  front  was  always 
open  to  her,  and  philosophically  pocketed  the  custom, 
ary  tip. 

And  she  had  struggled  valiantly  against  becoming  an 
embittered  old  maid;  in  the  main,  had  succeeded.  To  the 
world,  at  least,  she  rarely  turned  a  scowl,  and  she  had 
never  lost  a  friend.  But  there  were  times  when  she  hated 
her  parents.  Since  Isabel's  return  she  had  had  more  than 
one  rebellious  hour,  for  Isabel  had  taken  her  life  in  both 
hands,  snapped  her  fingers  at  restraints  and  small  con 
ventions,  and,  so  far,  at  least,  had  made  good.  And  the 
younger  girl's  development,  to  one  that  had  known  her 
always,  was  extraordinary.  On  the  other  hand,  she  exulted 
in  the  prospect  of  a  member  of  the  old  set  coming  promi 
nently  to  the  front  once  more.  She  had  spent  a  week  with 
Isabel  at  Old  Inn,  and  received  a  certain  measure  of  con 
fidence.  She  hoped  that  Isabel  would  really  make  a 
fortune,  and  urged  her  to  follow  Gwynne's  example  and 
put  up  a  modern  building  on  her  San  Francisco  property. 
Money  was  easy  to  raise,  for  change  and  improvement 
possessed  San  Franciscans  like  an  epidemic,  and  few  but 
were  not  anxious  to  convert  "South  of  Market  Street" 
into  a  great  business  district.  Although  she  was  grateful 
to  the  new  people,  particularly  Ada  Hofer,  who,  to  use  the 

503 


ANCESTORS 

lady's  own  expression  "made  things  hum,"  in  her  heart 
she  disliked  the  breed,  and  deeply  resented  the  fact  that 
the  old  set,  even  those  by  no  means  impoverished,  to-day 
formed  little  more  than  a  background.  They  were  to  be 
seen  everywhere,  they  were  still  a  power  in  a  way,  but  they 
were  by  no  means  prosilient.  Therefore,  as  she  sat  in  the 
old  dark  dining-room  on  Russian  Hill  and  listened  to 
Isabel's  praise  of  the  interest  that  Hofer  and  his  set  took  in 
the  political  and  artistic  regeneration  of  the  city,  she  was 
moved  to  break  out  tartly: 

"  Are  you  giving  them  credit  for  altruism  ?  They  have 
their  millions  invested  here,  naturally  they  crave  a  rea 
sonable  prospect  of  retaining  them — also  of  increasing 
them  by  filling  Fairmont,  and  other  projected  caravan 
saries  for  the  rich,  with  winter  tourists  from  the  East; 
possibly  Europe.  They  not  only  fear  the  corporation 
cormorants — whom  they  can  never  reach  so  long  as  the 
Board  of  Supervisors  is  controlled  by  the  Boss — the  Boss 
himself  and  all  his  devouring  horde,  but  the  greatest 
menace  of  all:  that  San  Francisco  will  in  time,  and  before 
very  long,  be  owned  body  and  soul  by  the  labor-unions. 
Then,  even  if  they  managed  to  save  their  wealth,  the 
city  would  be  intolerable  for  the  socially  ambitious  or  even 
the  merely  refined." 

"You  are  unfair,"  said  Gwynne;  "for  these  men  all 
have  enough  to  pull  out  and  invest  elsewhere.  They  could 
go  to  New  York  and  buy  a  big  position,  as  so  many  of  their 
predecessors  have  done.  Or  to  London.  Of  course  no 
man  ever  lived  that  was  wholly  disinterested,  unless  he 
was  a  fanatic,  but  it  is  vastly  to  the  credit  of  these  men  that 
they  love  their  own  city,  stand  by  it — determined  to  make 
it  livable,  not  only  for  themselves,  but  for  future  genera- 

504 


A      N      C      E      S       T      O       R       S 

tions;  instead  of  moving  away  and  becoming  millionaires 
of  leisure." 

"Oh  yes,  I  don't  deny  that  they  have  enthusiasm — the 
remnant,  no  doubt,  of  what  in  their  European  ancestors 
was  temperament.  Americans  don't  have  temperament. 
Or  if  we  have  we  are  far  too  self-conscious  to  show  it. 
In  the  East  it  has  been  quite  eradicated.  Out  here  where 
gambling  is  still  in  the  blood — and  that  blood  is  mixed — 
where  the  air  is  full  of  electricity,  and  the  very  ground 
under  your  feet  none  too  certain,  we  are  a  little  more 
primitive;  we  have  an  excitability  that  makes  strangers 
find  us  more  like  the  Latin  races  of  Europe  than  our  rel 
atives  beyond  the  Rockies.  And  although  the  set  you 
admire  does  not  drink,  nor  live  the  all-night  life,  it  has  its 
own  demands  for  spice  and  variety,  and  its  own  ways  of 
gratifying  them.  Love  of  change,  love  of  any  sort  of  a 
fight,  is  in  the  blood  of  your  true  Californian — partic 
ularly  here  in  San  Francisco,  where  all  the  great  gambling 
fevers,  from  the  days  of  '49  to  the  wild  speculations  in 
Virginia  City  stocks  in  '76,  have  raged  up  and  out.  Your 
friends  are  merely  playing  a  big  game.  Successive  de 
feats,  and  the  formidable  front  of  the  enemy,  make  it  the 
more  stimulating.  They  have  that  fanatical  love  of  San 
Francisco  that  every  one  out  here  has  who  doesn't  hate  it, 
and  they  find  it  more  exciting  to  stay  here  and  gamble  for 
big  stakes  than  to  watch  their  wives  spend  money  in  New 
York,  and  console  them  for  snubs.  Another  point — they 
are  far  more  enterprising  than  the  rich  men's  sons  that 
preceded  this  generation — or  set,  rather.  They  keep  on 
making  money,  you  may  have  observed.  And  fashions 
change.  New  York  Society  is  no  longer  the  Mecca  of  the 
worldly  San  Franciscan,  and  it  has  also  become  the  fashion 

505 


ANCESTORS 

to  invest  huge  amounts  here;  in  many  cases,  entire  fort 
unes.  These  men  really  could  not  pull  out  without  great 
loss  of  income,  and  they  all  know  how  safe  it  is  to  leave 
one's  interests  in  other  people's  hands.  In  this  town,  at 
least,  no  one  has  ever  done  that  without  regretting  it." 

"If  the  fashion  has  changed  I  dare  say  it  is  these  men 
that  have  changed  it.  I  always  bow  to  feminine  logic,  but 
nothing  you  have  said  so  far  has  changed  my  attitude. 
Besides,  I  admire  their  taste.  This  is  the  only  part  of 
America  that  has  made  any  appeal  to  me,  and  there  is 
no  question  that  if  they  force  through  the  Burnham 
plans,  this  city,  with  its  wonderful  natural  advantages, 
will  be  as  beautiful  as  ancient  Athens.  Surely  you  must 
admit  ideality  in  men  that  can  conceive  such  an  ideal 
and  cling  to  it,  no  matter  how  forlorn  the  hope." 

"That's  just  what  I  object  to.  The  least  imaginative 
of  us  realizes  that  nature  gave  San  Francisco  a  beau 
tiful  face  and  that  man  has  done  all  he  could  to  scar  it. 
But  even  did  these  men  obtain  control — which  they  can't 
short  of  lynch  law — it  would  take  half  a  century  to  re 
move  the  old  city  piecemeal.  Do  you  imagine  property- 
owners  are  going  to  change  their  natures  and  sacrifice 
profitable  office  buildings  and  shops  for  the  sake  of  widen 
ing  streets  and  making  boulevards  and  parks  ?  Do  you 
realize  what  it  would  mean  in  the  way  of  individual  sac 
rifice  to  build  winding  roads  about  these  hills  instead  of 
the  improved  and  perpendicular  gullies  we  have  to-day  ? 
Not  even  your  own  would  do  it.  They  merely  dream  and 
talk,  although,  no  doubt,  they  would  make  all  the  changes 
that  promised  large  personal  profits.  I  suspect  that  the 
secret  of  their  zeal  is  the  desire  to  deflect  the  tourist  tide 
from  south  to  north." 

506 


ANCESTORS 

Gwynne  laughed.  He  was  a  stubborn  idealist,  and 
having  found  something  at  last  to  admire  he  purposed  to 
hug  it.  "You  belong  to  the  pessimistic  camp.  I  dis 
covered  that  when  you  honored  Old  Inn.  And  I  have 
lived  here  long  enough  to  learn  that  it  is  full  enough  But 
you  are  all  different  from  other  Americans,  and  for  that 
reason  I  find  the  most  discontented  of  you  interesting." 

But  Miss  Montgomery  suspected  that  he  was  quizzing 
her  and  would  not  be  drawn  further.  Instead,  she  pro 
posed  a  walk,  and  Gwynne  in  his  turn  suggested  that  they 
go  over  and  look  at  his  property,  which  he  had  visited  once 
only.  Miss  Montgomery  knew  the  history  of  every  house 
old  and  new,  and  told  them  many  anecdotes  as  they 
walked  down  the  steep  hills  or  along  the  cross  streets  to 
Kearney,  at  the  base.  The  new  houses  had  fine  gardens, 
the  old  ones  were  gloomy  with  eucalypti,  or  ragged  with 
palms,  but  everywhere  were  flowers,  even  at  this  season, 
giving  an  immediate  relief  to  the  eye  from  the  long  dull 
perspective.  On  six  days  out  of  the  seven  the  streets  were 
torn  with  wind  when  they  were  not  drenched  with  rain, 
and  in  the  dry  season  the  dust  was  intolerable;  although 
San  Franciscans  vowed  it  was  a  part  of  the  picture  and 
missed  it  when  abroad.  But  gay  as  certain  sections  of 
San  Francisco  was  at  night,  its  residence  districts  always 
had  a  deserted  air,  and  on  Sunday  nothing  could  exceed 
the  brown  desolation  of  the  shopping  streets.  From  a  variety 
of  causes  San  Franciscans  were  averse  from  too  much  pe- 
destrianism,andone  could  walk  for  blocks  and  pass  nothing 
but  an  occasional  carriage,  or  the  trolley-cars  shrieking  up 
and  down  the  hills,  or  emptying  themselves  into  Kearney 
and  Montgomery  streets  with  the  racket  of  a  besieging 
army. 

507 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

But  this  Christmas  Day  it  was  clear  and  warm,  and 
the  wind  drifted  about  as  if  its  wings  were  tired.  All  the 
world  was  on  the  cable  and  trolley  cars,  but  bound  for 
park  and  sea,  and  in  the  opposite  direction  from  the  three 
on  their  way  to  the  valley  south  of  Market  Street.  Kearney 
Street  would  have  looked  like  a  necropolis  had  it  not  been 
for  several  patient  horses  standing  with  their  feet  on  the 
pavement,  their  ears  cocked  towards  a  saloon,  or  es 
tablishment  for  "rifle  practice";  and  even  Market  Street, 
on  week-days  barely  passable  with  its  trucks,  four  lines  of 
cars,  and  a  mass  of  humanity,  was  almost  deserted.  They 
walked  past  the  Palace  Hotel,  down  Second  Street,  and 
by  many  dingy  peeling  low-browed  and  entirely  hideous 
shops  and  flats,  with  glimpses  into  unsavory  cross  streets, 
until  they  came  to  the  block  owned  by  the  Otises  since 
the  early  Fifties.  Even  in  its  present  condition  the  rents 
were  considerable,  and  as  it  was  but  a  stone's-throw  from 
several  other  new  office  buildings,  there  was  no  question 
that  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  the  land  value  would 
be  doubled,  and  Gwynne  regretted  being  forced  to  sell  a 
portion  of  his  share  in  order  to  be  able  to  erect  a  building 
large  enough  to  pay.  What  was  left  of  Hiram  Otis's 
portion,  inherited  by  Isabel,  stood  on  the  opposite  corner, 
and  now  yielded  only  ground  rent,  the  old  buildings  having 
crumbled  on  the  stock-market.  But  the  land  could  be 
sold  conditionally,  and  once  more  Miss  Montgomery  sug 
gested  building.  Gwynne  turned  to  Isabel  with  interest. 

"Do!"  he  exclaimed.  "Come  in  with  us,  and  we'll 
put  up  a  larger  building.  Sell  your  land  and  I'll  borrow 
money  on  one  of  the  ranches,  and  sell  out  my  Consols. 
Then  I  can  hold  on  to  all  this,  and  we'll  none  of  us  have 
so  long  to  wait  for  large  returns." 

508 


A       NCESTORS 

"I  am  afraid  of  fires,"  said  Isabel,  dubiously.  "The 
most  vivid  memories  of  my  childhood  are  standing  at  my 
window  on  the  Hill  in  my  night-gown  and  watching  whole 
blocks  down  here  in  flames.  The  wonder  is  that  yours 
have  never  gone.  Now  I  get  my  ground  rent,  no  matter 
what  happens."  But  before  she  had  finished  speaking 
she  had  made  a  sudden  movement  towards  Gwynne.  "I 
will  do  it,"  she  said.  "It  will  be  better — all  round." 

"Good!  And  I  intend  to  put  on  outside  shutters  of 
asbestos,  so,  with  walls  of  concrete  and  steel,  and  as  little 
wood  inside  as  possible,  we  should  weather  anything  short 
of  subterranean  fires." 

Then  Miss  Montgomery  took  them  through  South  Park, 
the  oval  enclosure,  surrounded  by  high  brown  sad-looking 
houses  looking  down  upon  a  bit  of  dusty  green,  and  pointed 
out  the  long-deserted  mansions  of  the  Randolphs,  the 
Hathaways,  the  Hunt  McLanes,  and  of  others  who  had 
dispensed  the  simple  lavish  hospitality  of  the  Fifties  arid 
Sixties.  She  was  intensely  proud  of  the  fact  that  her 
mother  had  been  born  in  South  Park,  and  pointed  with  a 
sigh,  not  all  unconscious  affectation,  to  the  stiff  three- 
storied  house  that  had  come,  with  so  many  others,  "round 
the  Horn"  in  the  Fifties.  Beside  it,  looking  like  an  old 
man  with  his  arms  hanging  and  his  jaw  fallen,  its  windows 
vacant  and  broken,  its  paint  long  unrenewed,  and  cob 
webs  on  the  very  doorstep,  stood  the  Randolph  House, 
the  theatre  of  the  most  poignant  of  all  an  Francisco's 
initial  tragedies.  Isabel  had  told  Gwynne  the  story  of 
Nina  Randolph,  and  as  Anne  repeated  it  he  recalled  the 
name  of  Dudley  Thorpe,  and  remembered  that  he  had 
left  the  reputation  of  a  good  parliamentarian  and  M.  F.  H. 

They  went  up  to  Rincon  Hill,  once  the  haughty  elder 
509 


A       N       C       E       S       TORS 

sister  of  South  Park,  now  looking  like  a  lonely  island  in  a 
dirty  sea  covered  with  wreckage.  There  still  remained 
several  handsome  old  ivy-covered  mansions,  and  many 
beautiful  as  well  as  picturesquely  dilapidated  gardens. 
Rincon  Hill  had  contributed  two  peeresses  to  England, 
Lee  Tarlton  and  Tiny  Montgomery,  and  Gwynne  not  only 
knew  them  both,  but  was  the  more  interested,  as  Cecil 
Maundrell's  sudden  elevation  to  the  earldom  of  Barnstaple 
during  his  active  youth  had  served  as  an  object-lesson  to 
himself.  Mrs.  Montgomery's  old  home  was  in  good  re 
pair  but  she  was  in  Europe  as  usual,  and  Randolph  Mont 
gomery,  now  in  the  diplomatic  service — too  independent 
for  the  machine,  he  had  been  driven  out  of  politics  some 
years  since — preferred  the  more  central  comforts  of  a 
hotel  when  he  visited  San  Francisco.  Two  old  family 
servants  were  sunning  themselves  in  the  garden.  The 
window-curtains  were  presumably  packed  in  camphor,  and 
the  dim  panes  suggested  a  cobwebbed  and  desolate  interior. 
Gwynne  glanced  across  the  ugly  shabby  but  teeming  valley 
to  the  symbols  of  stupendous  energies  concentrated  on  its 
edge,  and  the  variegated  magnificence  of  the  hills,  piling 
like  roughly  terraced  cliffs  above  it;  then  west  to  the  moun 
tains  by  the  sea,  green,  unclaimed  by  man  as  yet,  although 
the  dead  were  thick  on  the  hills  just  below.  It  was  a 
city  struggling  out  of  chaos,  but  perhaps  more  interesting 
than  it  would  be  a  century  hence,  when  it  had  fulfilled 
its  destiny  and  become  a  great  metropolis  of  white  marble 
and  stone.  A  century  ?  Nowhere  had  era  succeeded  era 
with  such  startling  rapidity,  nowhere  in  one  short  half- 
century  had  the  genus  American  passed  through  so  many 
phases.  The  evidences  were  all  before  him.  Once  again 
he  had  the  impression  of  standing  in  the  presence  of  hoary 

510 


ANCESTORS 

age — ugly  premature  age — was  that  the  secret  of  the  vague 
suggestion  of  an  unthinkable  antiquity  that  so  often  rose 
like  a  ghost  in  his  mind  ? 

The  girls  announced  that  they  should  ride  back,  and 
they  walked  over  and  took  a  Third  Street  car.  It  was 
almost  empty  when  they  entered,  but  was  invaded  at  the 
next  corner  by  a  belated  pleasure  party  bound  for  the  Park, 
a  noisy  disreputable  crowd  of  flashy  men,  and  girls  with 
bold  tired  eyes,  a  thick  coat  of  the  white  paint  which  has 
made  the  fortune  of  the  San  Francisco  chemist,  and  gaudy 
cheap  attire.  Known  in  the  vernacular  as  "chippies," 
they  bore  a  crude  Western  resemblance  to  the  Parisian 
grisette,  and  what  they  lacked  in  style  they  made  up  in 
sound.  They  were  the  class  that  monopolized  boats  and 
trains  on  Sundays,  screaming  steadily  through  the  tunnels, 
and  returned  late,  no  longer  happy  because  no  longer  able 
to  make  a  noise.  One  of  the  young  women  pointed  a  fin 
ger  at  Gwynne,  screaming,  "I  choose  you!"  and  plumped 
herself  on  his  lap,  to  the  suppressed  delight  of  Isabel 
and  Miss  Montgomery,  But  Gwynne  looked  blankly  at 
her  ill-buttoned  back  and  the  immense  buckle  of  her  belt, 
while  the  rest  of  the  party,  those  that  sat  and  those  that 
swung  to  and  fro  at  the  straps,  mocked  her  for  choosing 
so  unresponsive  a  knight.  The  car  stopped  to  accommo 
date  another  relay,  and  Gwynne  by  a  deft  movement  trans 
ferred  the  lady  to  his  own  seat,  and  engineered  the  girls 
out  of  the  car,  before  two  hoodlums,  who  were  working 
their  way  up  from  the  lower  door,  could  reach  them. 

They  found  a  garage  and  a  good  automobile,  and  spent 
an  hour  or  two  out  on  the  ocean  boulevard.  When  they 
returned  to  town,  Miss  Montgomery  alighted  at  one  of 
the  hotels  where  she  was  to  dine;  and,  the  chauffeur  an- 

511 


A       N       C       E       S       TORS 

nouncing  that  he  could  not  "make  another  hill,"  Gwynne 

Znd  Isabel  started  for  home  on  foot. 
The  city  rose  in  a  succession  of  hills  from  the  level,  and 
tney   climbed   slowly,   talking   little.     Suddenly   Gwynne 
laid  his  hand  on  Isabel's  arm  and  stopped,  directing  her 
gaze  upward.     They  were  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  narrow 
almost  perpendicular  blocks  that  rose  between  Pine  and 
California  streets.     On  either  side  were   brown  old-fash 
ioned  houses,  several  of  them  set  back  from  the  street, 
and  surrounded  by  trees  and  high  close  fences.     It  was 
almost  dark,  but  a  moon  was  due,  so  the  street  lamps  were 
not  lit.     Crawling  down  from  the  street  above,  on  one 
side  only,  and  clinging  to  the  upper  houses,  was  the  ad 
vance  guard  of  the  fog.     It  had  come  in  stealthily  and 
halted  for  a  moment,  taking  strange  shapes.     It  looked 
like  the  ghost  of  an  ancient  fog,  and  the  very  houses,  in 
which  not  a  light  had  appeared,  might  have  been  deserted 
for  a  century.     In  a  moment  it  began  to  crawl  down  the 
side   of  the   street,   seeming  to   fill   the  whole   city  with 
silence.     It  was  a  scene  indescribably  gloomy,  haunting, 
forbidding,  and  to  Gwynne,  who  had  studied  the  city  in 
many  lonely  rambles,  to  whisper  of  the  unrelieved  gloom 
of  lives   behind   that    stage   where    the    most    famous   of 
American  Follies  danced  for  ever  in  her  cap  and   bells. 
The  spirit  of  sympathy  was  in  the  fog  and  the  brief  dark 
ness  for  the  thousands  of  broken  dogged  men  and  women 
that  rarely  caught  sight  of  the  cap  and  bells.     For  them 
the  ashes,  the  embittered  memories,  the   blasted  hopes, 
a  quiet  sullen  hatred  for  the  city  that  had  devoured  their 
hearts  and  left  them  automatons.     This  was  a  phase  of 
the  city's  life  of  which  the  enthusiastic  shallow  tourist 
had  never  a  hint.     It  took  a  man  of  genius  like  Gwynne 

512 


ANCESTORS 

to  feel  the  genius  of  the  city  in  all  its  sinister  variety.}  He 
had  hardly  pieced  his  impressions  together  as  yet^  but 
he  told  Isabel  a  little  of  what  his  subconscious  ego 
had  formulated,  and  she  had  never  liked  him  so  well  as 
when  she  took  his  arm  and  they  ascended  into  the  sudden 
down  rush  of  the  fog. 


XXXVI 

returned  to  Lumalitas  on  the  following 
day  and  Isabel  moved  down  to  Mrs.  Hofer's.  This 
had  seemed  a  rather  superfluous  proceeding  to  Miss  Otis, 
but  Mrs.  Hofer  would  take  no  denial,  and  lodged  her  guest 
in  a  suite  the  luxury  of  which  at  first  delighted  and  then 
stifled  her.  She  liked  splendor  and  luxury  in  the  abstract, 
but  some  lingering  shade  of  Puritanism  in  her  resented 
the  enthralment  of  the  higher  faculties.  Her  rooms  were 
upholstered  with  satin  from  floor  to  ceiling,  the  toilet-table 
was  bedecked  with  gold,  and  the  furniture  had  been  made 
for  some  favorite  of  Napoleon  during  the  First  Empire. 
Isabel  was  haunted  by  a  vague  sense  of  impropriety, 
which  she  ridiculed  but  could  not  stifle. 

And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  became  weary  of 
flowers.  When  she  arrived  there  was  an  abundance  of 
the  more  costly  in  her  boudoir — those  that  were  raised  in 
hot  -  houses  that  the  rich  might  not  be  balked  in  their 
laudable  desire  to  spend — and  before  the  week  was  over, 
her  rooms,  as  she  wrote  to  Gwynne — chuckling  on  his 
veranda — looked  like  a  florist's  shop  and  smelt  like  a 
funeral.  Everybody  she  met,  and  several  that  she  did  not, 
sent  her  the  floral  tribute.  The  bell  rang  every  hour. 
When  the  imperturbable  footman  finally  appeared  with 
a  box  that  looked  like  a  child's  coffin,  Isabel  told  him 
pettishly  to  throw  it  into  the  back  yard.  All  Americans 

5H 


A      N      C       E       S       T      0       R       S 

send  flowers  to  a  pretty  girl  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  the 
San  Franciscan  indulges  in  an  avalanche  where  his  more 
economical  Eastern  brother  is  content  with  good  measure, 
pressed  down,  but  not  running  over. 

But  the  offerings  were  by  no  means  confined  to  the 
young  men  that  Isabel  met  at  the  functions  of  the  week. 
"Old  friends  of  the  family"  were  interested  to  welcome 
to  their  midst  the  beautiful  daughter  (albeit  somewhat 
eccentric)  of  Jim  Otis  and  Mary  Belmont.  Enthusiastic 
maidens,  and  others— anxious  to  proclaim  their  delight 
in  this  sudden  invasion  of  their  preserves — sent  roses  with 
stems  four  feet  long  and  chrysanthemums  that  looked  like 
painted  cauliflowers.  After  a  tea  at  the  Presidio,  given 
in  the  open  square,  and  in  honor  of  the  descendant  of  its 
most  historic  Commandante,  Don  Jose  Arguello,  that  re 
claimed  precinct  being  singularly  prolific  in  flowers,  the 
offerings  arrived  on  the  following  day  in  an  ambulance. 

It  was  an  energetic  week.  When  Mrs.  Hofer  was  not 
herself  entertaining,  she  and  her  guest  lunched  and  dined 
out  daily,  attended  several  teas  every  afternoon,  a  cotillon, 
a  skating  masque,  and  five  balls.  Two  of  the  luncheons 
were  at  Burlingame  and  Menlo  Park,  whence  they  motored 
as  valiantly  as  if  the  roads  were  European.  How  so  much 
was  crowded  into  one  short  week  Isabel  never  understood, 
but  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  rush  at  its 
worst  was  better  than  remaining  for  two  consecutive 
waking  hours  in  the  Hofer  mansion.  Mrs.  Hofer  was 
always  amiable  and  charming,  but  she  was  overwhelming. 
Her  energies  demanded  the  safety-valve  of  constant  speech, 
and  she  was  one  of  those  American  hostesses  that  hold  that 
to  neglect  a  guest  is  an  unpardonable  breach  of  hospitality. 
She  even  gave  up  bridge  for  the  week.  Moreover,  Isabel 

515 


A       N       C       E       S       TORS 

was  not  long  discovering  that  she  contributed  her  part 
towards  the  sustenance  of  that  wondrous  buoyancy,  those 
eternal  high  spirits,  that  glorious  joie  de  vivre.  The 
woman  was  an  unconscious  vampire.  Men  did  not  feel 
it,  and  saw  only  her  irresistible  youth,  but  she  squeezed 
women  as  she  did  her  morning  sponge,  and  had  no  real 
intimates;  although  few,  herself  least  of  all,  understood 
the  secret.  If  she  had  liked  Isabel  less,  it  would  have 
been  more  endurable,  but  she  had  never  liked  any  one 
more,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that  she  was  determined 
to  give  her  "the  time  of  her  life."  She  descended  upon 
her  helpless  guest  with  a  rush  of  silken  skirts — that 
sounded  like  wings — and  a  torrent  of  bright  chatter,  dur 
ing  every  unoccupied  hour  or  moment.  Isabel's  only 
experience  of  hospitality  heretofore  had  been  in  England, 
where  a  guest  might  die  and  be  resurrected  between  the 
formal  hours  of  reunion  and  the  hostess  be  none  the  wiser. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  visiting  might  become 
hard  labor,  and  as  she  had  met  few  people  whom  she  had 
liked  as  spontaneously  as  Ada  Hofer,  she  had  come  to  her 
without  a  misgiving.  But  she  was  soon  hiding  behind  the 
curtains  of  the  big  rooms  down -stairs,  and,  upon  one 
memorable  occasion,  took  refuge  under  the  library  table, 
while  the  sweet  rapid  voice  of  the  hostess  clarioned  through 
out  the  house.  She  was  drawn  guiltily  forth  by  a  deep 
chuckle  from  the  arm-chair  in  the  window.  Mr.  Toole  re 
garded  her  with  a  twinkle  in  his  bright  old  eyes,  and  no 
resentment. 

"I  won't  tell  on  ye,"  he  said.  "I  feel  like  it  meself,  at 
times.  Ada's  a  good  child,  as  good  as  a  born  egoist  can 
be,  but — well — we  are  not  all  made  on  the  same  plan. 
And  this  life  don't  suit  you.  You're  a  dreamer.  I  know 

516 


ANCESTORS 

one  when  I  see  one,  for  I've  that  side  to  meself,  and  now 
that  life  is  easy  it's  most  the  only  side  I've  got  left.  Sit 
down  in  that  corner  behind  the  bookcase  and  I'll  read  to 
you  from  one  of  the  old  poets,  Byron,  belike.  If  Ada 
finds  us,  I'll  send  her  kiting.  She  didn't  bring  me  up." 

When  Isabel,  in  the  solitude  of  her  bed,  found  time  to 
think,  she  concluded  that  if  she  could  eliminate  all  men 
from  her  week  except  Mr.  Hofer  and  those  of  his  par 
ticular  set,  she  might  still  ^enjoy  herself.  The  San  Fran 
cisco  society  youth  has  always  been  a  failure.  Except  in 
rare  instances  he  has  not  been  outside  his  native  State,  has 
read  nothing,  and  is  casual  of  manner.  Although  more 
young  men  of  the  favored  class  attend  the  home  uni 
versities  than  formerly,  the  students  that  derive  the  full 
benefit  of  these  institutions  are  rarely  those  that  intend 
to  make  a  business  of  dancing,  and  calling  on  Sunday 
afternoons.  It  is  yet  too  soon  to  weld  cultivation  with 
leisure,  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  most  of  the  society 
youth  have  their  living  to  make,  combining  business  and 
fashion  with  a  moderate  success.  Like  Wellington's  pup 
pies,  they  have  proved  themselves  of  sound  metal  when 
put  to  the  crucial  test,  but  as  an  intellectual  diversion 
they  might  as  well  be  mechanical  toys.  The  leader  has 
not  yet  arisen  that  can  permanently  combine  the  older 
and  younger  sets.  They  mingle  at  great  functions,  but 
the  dancing  set  monopolizes  the  season's  stage. 

Of  this  set  Mrs.  Hofer  was  an  enthusiastic  member, 
and  even  at  dinner  rarely  entertained  any  other.  Oc 
casionally,  and  once  during  Isabel's  visit,  she  invited  some 
friends  of  her  husband,  who  never  went  to  parties, 
and  often  entertained  when  his  wife  was  elsewhere;  but 
these  men  did  as  much  talking  as  listening,  and  that  was 

5'7 


ANCESTORS 

no  part  of  Mrs.  Hofer's  system.  Isabel  had  flashing 
vistas  of  small  groups  of  men  and  women,  distinguished 
socially  as  well  as  mentally,  that  entertained  each  other, 
or  met  at  a  new  club  through  which  Mrs.  Hofer  whisked 
her  one  night, — a  club  where  the  best  of  Bohemia  met 
the  more  intellectual  members  of  society;  and  she  knew 
that  in  these  groups  she  might  find  also  the  higher  class 
business  and  professional  men,  and  a  few  of  leisure  that 
enjoyed  life  without  either  dancing  or  drinking.  But 
Mrs.  Hofer,  although  far  too  well  satisfied  with  life  and 
herself  to  be  a  snob,  loved  brilliancy,  splendor,  constant 
excitement,  dancing,  chatter;  and  only  her  chosen  set 
could  provide  the  banquet.  She  could  dance  every  night 
from  ten  until  two,  and  awaken  in  mid-morning  as  fresh 
as  a  rose.  She  had  the  wardrobe  of  the  stoned  princess, 
and  her  guests  and  friends  must  contribute  their  share  to 
the  brilliancy  of  all  gatherings.  She  detested  shabbiness; 
it  was  the  only  thing  that  depressed  her  spirits.  Proud 
as  she  was  of  her  husband,  his  aims,  and  his  position  in 
the  community,  his  friends  and  their  themes  frankly 
bored  her.  She  liked  talk,  not  conversation.  She  really 
loved  him,  however,  and  was  far  too  clever  to  let  him  feel 
neglected.  He  was  inordinately  proud  of  her,  and  grateful 
that  she  permitted  him  to  give  his  time  to  his  own  interests, 
instead  of  dragging  him  about  to  groan  against  the  wall. 
She  had  her  little  crosses  and  disappointments,  for  she 
had  many  servants  and  dressmakers;  but,  on  the  whole, 
Isabel  had  never  seen  any  one  so  persistently  happy,  nor 
with  more  reason.  Even  her  three  children  were  as  sturdy 
as  young  calves,  and  although  they  yelled  like  demons  for 
an  hour  every  morning — reawaking  to  the  sense  of  a  vague 
something  life  still  denied  them,  and  infuriated  at  the 

5.8 


ANCESTORS 

thought — Mrs.  Hofer  merely  turned  over  on  her  pillow 
with  an  indulgent  smile.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that 
the  rest  of  the  household  might  be  less  indulgent;  and  the 
nursery  above  Isabel's  room  was  not  the  least  of  the  causes 
that  contributed  to  a  frantic  longing  for  the  thirty-first 
of  December. 


XXXVII 

BUT  it  was  not  until  four  o'clock  on  the  day  of  release 
that  she  found  herself  actually  alone  in  her  chilly  and 
chaste  boudoir  on  the  higher  hill;  Mrs.  Hofer  escorted  her 
home  and  remained  for  many  last  words.  Then  Isabel 
fell  into  a  chair  before  the  mounting  fire  and  shut  her  eyes. 
Lady  Victoria  was  out.  Gwynne  was  not  expected  until 
the  evening  train.  She  wished  that  she  had  not  promised 
to  dine  with  the  Stones  at  seven.  The  house  was  as 
silent  as  a  tomb;  but  while  she  was  still  rejoicing  in  the 
sudden  cessation  of  sound  and  motion,  the  door  opened 
and  Gwynne  entered.  She  gave  him  a  surly  nod,  and  he 
explained  that  he  had  come  down  in  the  morning,  in  order 
to  be  at  hand  to  welcome  her;  had  even  meditated  going 
to  her  rescue.  Isabel  deigned  no  replv-  and  he  took  pos 
session  of  a  deep  chair,  settled  himself  on  his  backbone, 
and  regarded  her  attentively. 

"I  am  sorry  you  have  not  enjoyed  your  week  as  much 
as  I  have  done,"  he  observed.  "The  weather  has  been 
magnificent,  and  I  have  spent  all  the  days  out-of-doors, 
riding,  walking,  duck-shooting — taking  liberties  with  your 
boat,  and  even  your  launch.  I  never  enjoyed  myself  more 
— after  such  close  study,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  I  suppose. 
I  must  say  you  don't  look  very  fit.  You  are  pale  instead 
of  white,  and — well — cross.  Judging  from  those  models 
of  literary  elegance  and  Christian  charity,  the  San  Fran- 

520 


A       NCESTORS 

cisco  weekly  society  sheets — with  which  I  whiled  away 
that  infernal  train  journey — you  have  been  feted  like 
visiting  royalty,  photographed  by  the  foremost  in  his 
art — which  would  appear  to  be  the  equivalent  of  painted 
for  the  Academy — and  your  family  history  seems  to  have 
been  written  up  from  old  files,  with  even  more  pictu- 
resqueness  than  accuracy — " 

"I  wish  you  would  keep  still.  You  didn't  talk  half  so 
much  in  England.  I  shall  hate  you  if  you  become  wholly 
American." 

"  I  am  a  born  egotist.  Ask  my  mother.  Or  my  long- 
suffering  friends  and  constituents.  You  did  all  the  talking 
at  Capheaton — or  gave  me  a  wide  berth.  But  here  my 
mother  neither  talks  nor  listens —  He  paused  suddenly 
and  lowered  his  voice.  "Is  anything  the  matter  with  my 
mother,  do  you  think  ?  I  never  saw  any  one  so  changed. 
Do  you  suppose  she  hates  California  and  is  staying  here 
only  on  my  account  ? — I  have  offered  more  than  once  to 
pay  her  bills;  and  she  is  used  to  them,  anyway.  For 
heaven's  sake  persuade  her  to  go  back  and  enjoy  herself 
in  her  own  fashion.  I  really  don't  need  her — -haven't  time. 
And  in  spite  of  your  liberal  thorns  and  maddening  in 
comprehensibilities,  you  can  always  put  homesickness  to 
flight.  Sometimes  I  think  she  is  ill,  and  then  again  she 
looks  as  fit  as  ever." 

"  She  has  developed  nerves.  All  women  get  them  some 
time  or  other.  And  there  is  a  certain  order  of  women 
with  whom  beauty  and  fascination  are  a  vocation.  When 
those  pass  they  hate  life." 

"What  rot.  No  doubt  she's  a  bit  off  her  feed  and  rest 
less.  Probably  the  climate  doesn't  suit  her.  Heaven 
knows  it  is  nervous  enough.  But  I  don't  pretend  to  un- 

521 


ANCESTORS 

derstand  women.    What's  up  with  you  ?     Didn't  you  enjoy 
being  a  belle,  after  all  ?" 

"I  was  not  a  belle.     I  was  a  distinct  failure." 

"What  ?"  Gwynne  sat  up  and  forward.  "If  you  want 
to  psychologize,  fire  away.  It  always  interests  me." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  psychologizing.  I  haven't  had 
time  to  think.  But  I  do  know  that  a  life  lived  all  on  the 
surface — and  at  lightning  speed — doesn't  suit  me  a  bit." 
She  gave  him  a  rapid  sketch  of  her  week.  "I  was  with 
them,  but  not  of  them;  no  doubt  of  that.  Old  Mr.  Toole 
told  me  one  day  that  I  was  a  dreamer,  and  I  am  afraid  that 
is  the  solution.  I  like  to  imagine  myself  doing  things,  but 
I  don't  like  actually  doing  them.  I  found  that  out  over 
and  over  again  in  Europe.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  have 
longed  for  a  girl's  good  time  here  in  San  Francisco — denied 
all  these  years,  and  my  birthright.  I  was  bored  every 
where.  I  cannot  make  talk;  I  can  only  talk  spontaneously 
when  I  am  interested.  I  couldn't  even  enjoy  the  dancing — 
for  the  prospect  of  entertaining  those  brats  between  times. 
And  they  were  all  afraid  of  me.  I  never  could  be  a  belle 
like  either  the  old  ones  or  the  new  ones;  the  fault  lies 
wholly  in  myself,  not  in  circumstances  or  materials.  I  ^ 
don't  really  want  it.  No  girl  can  be  a  social  success  unless 
she  cares  tremendously  for  it.  Merely  pretty  girls  are 
often  popular,  simply  because  popularity  is  the  breath  of 
life  to  them.  I  wouldn't  try  it  again  for  anything  on 
earth.  I  long  to  be  at  home  watching  the  marsh,  and  not 
a  soul  to  talk  to.  That  was  all  I  was  made  for.  A  dreamer! 
I  am  terribly  disappointed." 

"But  Society  is  a  mere  phase.  So  is  Stone's  Bohemia. 
The  town  is  full  of  clever  people.  You  can  select  and 
form  your  own  set — when  you  are  ready." 

522 


A      N    _C_  _£_    S      T       O     _R S 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  care  about  it.  I  dislike  the  actual 
effort.  So  long  as  Mr.  Hofer  and  those  men  are  talking  I 
am  interested,  but  even  so  I  have  enjoyed — far  more — 
thinking  about  and  planning  to  know  them.  I  am  nothing 
but  a  dreamer." 

"And  you  have  just  discovered  that?"  asked  Gwynne, 
curiously.  "I  may  not  have  made  an  exhaustive  study 
of  woman,  but  up  to  a  certain  point  I  know  you;  and  I 
have  not  waited  for  Father  O'Toole  to  enlighten  me. 
I  could  have  told  you  that  you  would  hate  all  this  sort  of 
thing.  You  had  a  mere  taste  of  it  in  English  country- 
houses,  where  entertaining  has  reached  such  a  point  of 
perfection  that  a  man  never  feels  so  much  at  home  as  when 
in  some  one's  else  house.  If  you  had  waited  for  a  London 
season  you  would  have  been  as  quickly  disillusioned.  You 
have  the  most  impossible  ideals — " 

"I  can  realize  them  when  I  am  alone,"  said  Isabel, 
defiantly.  "I  shall  be  as  happy  as  ever  on  the  ranch,  the 
day  after  to-morrow." 

"That  sort  of  happiness  will  do  very  well  for  a  while — 
living  in  your  imagination  and  all  that.  But  what  is  it 
going  to  lead  to  ?" 

"Lead  to?     It  is  enough  in  itself." 

"You  can't  live  on  moonshine  for  ever.  I  told  you  be 
fore  that  I  understood  your  particular  form  of  idealism; 
but  although  I  believe  that  man  will  certainly  be  happier 
when  he  lives  more  within  that  structure  of  infinite  variety, 
himself,  less  and  less  dependent  upon  the  aggregations 
Life  has  devised  for  amusing  and  tormenting  him,  still  we 
must  reach  that  condition  by  very  slow  degrees;  if  we  take 
it  with  a  leap  the  result  will  be  an  ugly  and  disastrous 
selfishness.  If  you  can  prove  to  the  world  that  you  have 

523 


ANCESTORS 

found  happiness  in  the  cultivation  of  the  higher  facul 
ties,  you  will  serve  a  purpose  in  life,  for  you  will  en 
courage  a  certain  class  of  women  born  with  such  serious 
lacks,  in  the  health  or  the  affections,  or  even  in  the  power 
to  endure  the  mere  monotonies  of  married  life,  that  they 
are  better  off  alone;  but  who  often  feel  themselves  a  failure 
and  drop  into  morbidity  and  decay.  That  means  contact 
for  your  highness,  however.  If  you  sit  down  by  your 
marsh  for  the  rest  of  your  life  and  dream,  you  miss  the 
whole  point.  And  when  time  forced  you  to  realize  the 
uncompromising  selfishness  of  such  a  life — where  would 
your  happiness  be  then  ?" 

"Now  you  are  talking  by  the  book.  Why  are  we  so 
sure  that  it  is  a  part  of  our  duty  to  make  others  happy  ? 
That  may  be  but  one  more  superstition  to  rout.  If  we 
manage  to  be  happy  ourselves,  and  through  the  exercise 
of  the  higher  faculties  alone,  we  may  be  serving  an  end 
decreed  from  the  beginning;  by  some  subtle  process,  as 
incomprehensible  as  even  the  commonplaces  of  life,  add 
to  the  sum  of  happiness,  and  so  serve  life  far  better  than 
by  scattering  ourselves  all  over  the  surface.  But  I  told 
you  something  of  this  before  and  have  not  forgotten  the 
result." 

"Neither  have  I,  but  one  can  get  accustomed  to  any 
idea.  What  I  want  to  know  is — do  you  leave  youth  en 
tirely  out  of  your  calculations  ?" 

"Oh — youth!  Well — it  is  possible  I  might  not  if  I  had 
not  lived  through  its  tragedy  already — for  which  I  am 
thankful." 

"You  have  had  romance  and  tragedy,  and  you  are  a 
very  experienced  young  woman,  but  you  have  not  had 
happiness,"  said  Gwynne,  shrewdly.  "That,  too,  is  a 

524 


A       N      C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

birthright,  and  sooner  or  later  you  will  demand  it.  Social 
conquests  have  palled  in  seven  days.  In  time  chickens 
also  will  cease  to  satisfy,  and  books,  and  dreams,  and 
sunsets,  and  liberty.  The  peculiar  conditions  and  events 
of  your  first  quarter-century  demanded  an  interval  before 
beginning  again;  and  filled  with  all  you  have  deliberately 
chosen — all,  that  is,  but  chickens,  which  are  a  work  not  of 
God  but  of  supererogation.  But  intervals  come  to  an  end 
like  other  things.  When  this  finishes  you  will  suddenly 
demand  happiness — the  real  thing." 

"You  mean  that  I  will  fall  in  love  again,  I  suppose." 

"I  mean  that  you  will  love." 

"Now  you  are  hair-splitting.  Are  you  qualifying  to 
contribute  fictionized  essays  to  the  American  magazines  ?" 

"  I  am  stating  facts  and  don't  care  a  hang  about  sarcasm. 
Just  now  you  have  spasms  when  some  aspect  of  nature 
exalts  you.  I  have  watched  you  with  considerable  amuse 
ment.  But  it  is  natural  enough — merely  a  sort  of  fore 
runner  of  what  will  happen  when  nature  establishes  her 
currents  with  your  own  interior  landscapes.  Then  there 
will  be  earthquakes  and  hurricanes — your  cultivated  real 
ism  and  inherent  romanticism  will  become  hopelessly  mixed, 
and  you  will  be  really  happy." 

"More  likely,  such  moments  are  the  forerunners  of  a 
state  which  shall  be  an  eternal  exaltation.  Personal  im 
mortality  is  only  to  be  desired  if  it  insures  the  lifting  of  our 
faculties  to  their  highest  power  of  expression.  Anything 
else  would  mean  a  boundless  ennui.  As  for  my  present 
inertia,  is  it  not  the  duty  of  some  few  to  pass  their  lives 
in  appreciation  of  the  past?  Heaven  knows  there  are 
enough  looking  out  for  the  present.  And  I  am  sick  of  the 
superstition  that  love  is  all.  I  told  you  before  that  the 

525 


ANCESTORS 

happiness  of  women,  at  least,  depended  upon  relegating 
it  to  its  proper  place.  Once  I  regretted  that  Prestage  did 
not  die  while  I  still  believed  in  him,  so  that  I  could  have 
lived  my  life  with  his  memory,  as  Concha  Argiiello  did 
with  Rezanov's.  But  even  that  would  have  been  a 
species  of  slavery,  and  I  should  have  chafed  at  the  bond; 
never  had  this  divine  sense  of  freedom." 

"I  pass  over  the  majority  of  your  arguments — I  must 
sleep  on  them.  But  when  have  I  maintained  that  love 
was  all  ?  If  that  were  my  doctrine  should  I  be  reading  my 
head  off,  investing  in  Class  A  buildings,  talking  politics  to 
farmers,  and  revolving  plans  for  the  conquest  of  California  ? 
I  should  be  making  love  to  you.  That  is  what  I  should  like 
to  do,  however,  and  what  I  propose  to  do  when  I  am  ready." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  me  ?" 

"I  hardly  know,  but  I  suspect  that  I  shall  be.  If  I 
deliberately  choose  you  now  as  my  life  partner,  you  can 
not  complain  that  I  am  the  mere  slave  of  passion.  I  don't 
fancy  I  look  it  at  this  moment.  I  have  had  those  fevers, 
and  am  willing  to  admit  their  brevity.  No  doubt  if  I  had 
not  been  so  occupied  of  late  I  should  have  had  another. 
As  it  is,  I  am  blessedly  permitted  to  foresee  it;  and  to  keep 
my  brain  clear  enough  meanwhile  to  think  for  both  of  us." 

"Very  cousinly,  but  I  can  think  for  myself." 

She  had  risen,  but  he  stood  with  his  back  against  the 
door  for  a  moment. 

"Another thing—"  he  said.  "You  need  a  buffer.  You 
have  remarkable  powers,  and  you  might  realize  some  of 
your  dreams  if  the  prospect  of  initiatives  did  not  alarm  your 
secretly  feminine  soul.  The  two  of  us  together  could 
conquer  the  world.  Now  go  ahead  and  dream  until 
dreams  pall  and  I  have  more  time." 

526 


XXXVIII 

*{ IBSEN  will  live,  not  as  a  dramaturgist,  but  as  the 
1  greatest  professor  of  dramaturgy  the  world  has  ever 
known."  "Only  one  way  left  to  be  original — never  write 
about  Italy."  "When  we  say  that  a  man  is  a  high  type 
what  we  really  mean  is  that  he  is  the  great  exception  to  the 
type."  "That  progressive  type  of  bore — the  man  with 
a  grievance."  "San  Francisco  is  the  cradle  and  the  grave 
of  more  genius  than  ever  was  packed  into  any  city,  ancient 
or  modern.  It  is  like  our  money,  'easy  come,  easy  go/" 
"And  more  Hell."  "An  epigram  is  only  to  be  forgiven 
when  a  memorable  thought  is  packed  into  a  phrase  that 
sticks." 

As  Isabel  and  Gwynne  escaped  from  the  little  Italian 
restaurant  into  the  blare  and  glare  of  the  street,  their  heads 
were  ringing  with  much  brilliant  if  somewhat  affected  talk. 
They  had  sat  with  their  hosts  at  the  "newspaper  table." 
It  was  the  fashion  at  the  moment  to  express  life  in  para 
doxes,  and  with  a  nice  adjustment  of  commas  and  colons. 
There  had  been  no  talk  of  politics  in  this  Bohemia,  nor  of 
society;  nor  yet  of  other  subjects  that  commanded  its 
attention  when  the  long  day  gave  place  to  the  shorter 
night:  the  women  present  were  respectable,  many  of  them 
wives,  and  not  a  few  went  into  society  when  they  chose. 
There  was  much  talk  of  the  fads  with  which  the  world  was 
ridden,  never  a  reference  to  the  literature  or  art  of  the 

527 


A      N      C      E      S       T    _O R_     S 

past;  and  there  was  something  almost  pathetic  in  the 
prostration  of  these  brilliant  young  men,  who  had  never 
crossed  the  boundaries  of  their  State,  to  European  groups, 
some  of  whose  members  were  already  passe,  but  still 
loomed  gigantic  from  the  far  edge  of  the  Pacific.  Few 
American  writers  are  popular  in  California,  however  they 
may  be  read;  and  the  reason,  no  doubt,  lies  in  the  mixed 
blood  to  which  all  Europe  has  contributed,  and  which  is 
full  of  affinities  little  experienced  by  the  rest  of  the  country. 
Even  the  famous  cooking  is  un-American.  The  French, 
Italian,  and  Spanish  restaurants  are  exactly  what  they 
claim  to  be;  their  very  atmosphere  might  have  been  im 
ported.  /The  many  that  prefer  restaurant  life  even  to  the 
excellent  cooking  to  be  found  in  the  average  home,  give 
their  highest  preference  to  the  legacy  of  the  Spaniard; 
they  eat  hot  sauces  and  Chile  peppers  with  every  dish; 
and  tamales  are  sold  on  the  street  corners.  This  is  enough 
to  make  the  San  Franciscan  an  exotic,  and  it  contributes 
in  a  great  measure  to  his  fatal  contenU-V These  young  men 
had  no  real  knowledge  of  the  world,  but  they  had  their 
own  world,  and  were  by  no  means  provincial  in  the  accept 
ed  sense.  But  the  majority  were  satisfied  to  coruscate  to 
an  ever  applauding  audience — for  a  few  years;  with  money 
easily  got  and  delightfully  spent;  to  regard  Life  as  a  game, 
not  as  a  business.  Afterwards  the  rut,  the  friendly  pocket 
— nowhere  so  open  as  in  San  Francisco — a  job  now  and 
then,  more  than  one  way  of  forgetting  that  iu  times  gone 
by  a  fellow  was  one  of  those  " coming  men"  he  wanton 
heedless  city  turns  out  with  the  same  profusion  that  gorges 
her  markets  and  flaunts  her  sun  for  eight  months  of  the 
year. 

To    Gwynne    they   seemed    like    some    primitive    race 

528 


A      N      C      E       S    JT 0       R       S 

flourishing  before  its  time.  He  no  longer  argued  with 
them,  for  he  had  the  disadvantage  of  being  a  scholar,  and 
it  interfered  with  his  tolerance  of  fads  on  the  rampage; 
but  they  saddened  him,  made  him  feel  almost  elderly — • 
and  abominably  healthy.  To-night,  although  some  of  the 
complexions  of  these  young  men  were  green,  and  others 
red,  they  had  been  brilliant  without  undue  hilarity.  They 
intended  to  get  very  drunk  later  on — if  only  as  a  compli 
ment  to  the  New  Year — but  they  were  far  too  accom 
plished  for  precipitancy.  Stone,  alone,  refilled  his  glass 
so  often  that  Gwynne  announced  abruptly  that  they  were 
missing  the  fun  in  the  street,  and  Paula  promptly  took 
possession  of  his  arm.  Stone  followed,  rumbling  dis 
approval,  with  Isabel.  This  arrangement  was  not  to 
Gwynne's  taste,  but  he  had  developed  subtlety  in  such 
matters  and  bided  his  time. 

Kearney  Street  from  Telegraph  Hill  to  Market  Street, 
a  mile  or  more,  was  a  blaze  of  light,  and  crowded  with 
people.  It  was  a  very  orderly  throng,  for  it  was  composed 
of  the  respectable  element  of  the  city,  and  if  they  had  laid 
dignity  aside  for  the  moment,  they  were  not  distractingly 
noisy.  All  were  throwing  confetti,  and  many  had  tin 
horns.  Isabel  saw  the  Hofers,  arm  in  arm,  tooting 
vigorously.  Half  of  society  was  there;  and  many  staid  and 
strenuous  business  men  were  promenading  with  their 
wives  and  daughters,  more  than  one  with  his  neck  en 
circled  by  paper  ribbons  of  many  hues.  The  street-cars 
had  stopped,  but  there  were  a  number  of  automobiles 
filled  with  masques,  singling  out  their  friends  on  the 
pavement  and  hurling  confetti. 

But  it  was  not  until  Stone  and  his  party  reached  the 
great  central  highway,  Market  Street,  that  the  scene  was 

529 


ANCESTORS 

characteristic.  Here  the  windows  of  the  Palace  Hotel, 
and  all  the  other  buildings,  great  and  small,  were  illumi 
nated  and  filled  with  people.  And  the  entire  city  would 
seem  to  have  emptied  itself  not  only  into  Market  Street, 
but  into  those  streets  on  the  north  side  that  completed  the 
"all-night  district."  The  people  in  the  windows  wore 
their  gayest  attire,  and  there  was  often  music  as  well  as 
light  behind  them.  They  threw  down  confetti  by  the 
bushel  on  the  masses  below.  And  the  masses!  There 
was  no  polite  restraint  here.  Largely  recruited  from  the 
immense  South  of  Market  Street  district,  they  were  out 
for  a  good  time,  and  its  inevitable  expression  was  noise. 
They  were  in  the  best  of  tempers,  but  the  din  was  terrific. 
They  hooted  and  yelled,  and  every  one  of  the  several 
thousand  had  a  tin  horn  and  blew  it  with  all  his  might. 
Every  undefended  ear  was  victimized.  Isabel  pressed 
one  of  her  own  against  Stone's  shoulder  and  covered  the 
other  with  her  hand.  But  she  stared  at  the  crowd  with 
all  the  interest  of  the  secluded  for  the  mass.  There  were 
painted  ladies  of  all  grades,  and  hundreds  of  shop-girls, 
covered  with  white  paint  or  lavender  powder,  their  figures 
exaggerated  with  the  corset  of  the  moment,  and  violent 
plumage  on  head  and  waist,  although  they  had  prudently 
left  their  best  skirts  at  home.  Many  of  them  were  aston 
ishingly  pretty,  and  no  doubt  more  respectable  than  they 
looked.  Mrs.  Paula  was  in  her  element.  She  wore  her 
red  hat  and  blouse,  waved  her  hands  to  the  windows,  ex 
ulted  in  the  showers  of  confetti  that  descended  in  response, 
and  shouted  into  Gwynne's  ear  that  she  was  singled  out 
for  special  attentions.  In  truth  she  received  more  than  her 
escort  relished.  Her  natural  affinity  with  the  class  above 
which  she  had  risen  so  high  had  never  been  more  patent, 

53° 


A       N_ C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

and  kindred  spirits  looked  from  many  approving  eyes. 
Suddenly  both  cheeks  were  painted  black  by  a  too  frater 
nal  hand,  and  then  a  man  tried  to  kiss  her.  This  was  more 
than  even  Paula  could  stand,  and  she  flung  herself  into  her 
husband's  arms,  daubing  his  shirt  with  black  and  red. 
He  dropped  Isabel  and  struck  out  furiously.  There  was 
an  immediate  scuffle,  during  which  Gwynne  basely  drew 
Isabel's  arm  through  his  and  pressed  forward  into  the 
thick  of  the  crowd. 

"We  have  had  enough  of  them,  and  no  doubt  they  have 
had  of  us,"  he  said,  comfortably.  "Now  we  will  enjoy 
ourselves." 

"Well,  if  they  blacken  my  face  don't  notice  them.  One 
would  think  Lyster  would  know  how  to  play  the  game  by 
this  time." 

"He  is  always  ready  to  fight  after  the  fifth  glass  of  cham 
pagne.  I  have  had  lively  experiences  with  him." 

Conversation  was  impossible  in  the  din.  Isabel's  face 
was  smudged  more  than  once,  but  no  other  liberty  was 
attempted.  Gwynne  also  looked  like  a  chimney-sweep, 
and  was  addressed  as  "darling"  several  times,  but  the 
crowd  was  inoffensive  until  a  chain  -  gang  of  hoodlums 
dashed  irresistibly  through  it,  pushing  many  off"  the  side 
walk,  and  rousing  a  lurid  accompaniment.  One  man, 
solid  and  stolid,  stood  his  ground  on  the  edge  of  the  chain 
and  administered  a  hearty  kick  upon  each  ankle  as  it 
passed.  There  were  angry  howls  in  response,  but  none 
could  retaliate  without  breaking  the  chain,  nor  indeed 
could  they  control  its  momentum. 

"That  is  one  of  those  things  one  would  like  to  have 
thought  of  one's  self,"  said  Gwynne,  admiringly,  rubbing 
his  ribs,  for  he  had  hastily  swung  Isabel  outward,  and 

53 * 


ANCESTORS 

received  much  of  the  impact.  "We  might  as  well  get 
out  of  this." 

i  They  slowly  made  their  way  into  one  of  the  cross  streets 
that  seemed  to  leap  like  a  blazing  meteor  down  from  the 
darkness  of  the  heights.  But  the  crowd  was  still  as  dense, 
and  the  street  but  a  third  the  width  of  Market  Street. 
Not  even  an  automobile  attempted  to  force  its  way. 
Saloon  doors  were  swinging.  Policemen  stood  in  front 
of  them,  but  there  was  no  further  disorder.  Gwynne 
and  Isabel  pressed  back  against  the  wall  of  a  shop  and 
watched  and  waited.  They  were  to  celebrate  the  birth 
of  the  New  Year  with  the  Hofers  at  a  restaurant  on  the 
block  above,  but  there  was  no  prospect  of  reaching  it  at 
present. 

The  sky  was  cloudless.  If  the  evening  chill  had  come 
in  from  the  Pacific,  it  was  routed  by  the  mass  of  humanity 
and  the  downpour  of  heat  from  the  electric  lights.  All  the 
great  signs  were  blazing,  many  in  colors.  And  there  was 
music  in  all  the  saloons  and  restaurants;  it  rose  and  fell 
with  the  noise  of  the  tin  horn  and  the  hoot  of  the  happy. 
The  people  in  the  windows  here  threw  down  not  only  con 
fetti  but  flowers,  and  stacks  at  each  elbow  added  to  the  mass 
of  color.  Even  the  men  had  tied  bright  silk  handkerchiefs 
about  their  necks,  and  they  were  bestrewed  with  bits  of 
gold  and  silver  paper,  and  festooned  with  colored  ribbon. 
Gwynne  and  Isabel  were  quickly  singled  out  and  pelted 
with  balls  that  opened  with  the  impact  and  tangled  them 
together  with  the  endless  paper  streamers. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  the  crowd  began  its  retreat 
to  their  restaurants,  and  Gwynne  and  Isabel  were  able  to 
make  their  way  up  to  the  celebrated  resort  where  the 
Hofers  awaited  them.  They  were  shown  to  a  dressing. 

532 


^_    NCESTORS 

room  where  they  could  wash  their  faces,  and  then  to  the 
gallery  above  the  body  of  the  restaurant  which  was  di 
vided  into  boxes,  and  occupied  by  all  sorts  and  kinds 
of  people,  including  many  of  their  friends.  In  Hofer's 
box  was  a  large  bottle  on  ice  and  a  table  set  for  supper. 
Mrs.  Hofer,  looking  less  approving  than  earlier  in  the 
evening,  sat  half-hidden  by  a  curtain,  but  her  husband, 
in  common  with  most  of  the  other  people  in  the  gallery, 
was  throwing  confetti  upon  his  friends  below.  He  seized 
Gwynne  and  dragged  him  to  the  front  of  the  box,  and 
the  new  arrival  was  greeted  by  shouts  from  every  man,  it 
seemed  to  him,  that  he  had  met  in  San  Francisco.  The 
large  hall  with  its  tables  of  all  sizes  was  as  densely  packed 
as  the  streets  had  been. 

"Ever  see  anything  like  this  before  ?"  demanded  Hofer. 
He  paused  with  a  gasp  and  dislodged  a  ball  of  confetti 
from  his  throat.  "Look  with  all  your  eyes,  old  man. 
There  are  the  best  and  the  worst — all  who  can  pay  the 
price:  the  reformers  cheek  by  jowl  with  the  mayor  and 
the  Boss,  by  Jove!  The  matron  and  the  other  kind  of 
matron,  the  fair  young  girl  who  hopes  to  buy  a  rich  husband, 
and  the  sort  that  has  to  give  more  and  take  less;  the  family 
man  and  his  family,  not  a  bit  afraid  of  contamination,  en 
joying  himself  to  the  limit;  financiers,  millionaires,  cor 
poration  bosses  and  curb-stone  brokers,  newspaper  men, 
artists,  politicians  big  and  little,  society  youths  and  girls 
severely  chaperoned.  See  that  crowd  with  the  queens 
of  the  Tenderloin  ?  Ever  hear  what  one  of  our  local  wits 
said  about  them:  'Pity  the  worst  of  men  should  be 
named  for  the  best  of  fish!'" 

Hofer,  who  felt  it  his  duty  as  a  good  citizen  to  empty 
his  bottle  with  the  rest  of  the  world  on  New  Year's  eve, 

533 


ANCESTOR       S 

rattled  on.  Mrs.  Hofer  gave  an  occasional  warning  cough. 
Like  most  San  Francisco  women  of  her  class  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  prudery  under  her  gayety,  and  no  instinct 
whatever  for  Bohemia.  She  had  come  to  the  restaurant 
because  her  husband  had  urged  it,  but  she  took  no  part, 
and  threw  only  an  occasional  glance  at  the  floor.  But 
as  Isabel  was  manifestly  interested,  she  presented  her 
arm  and  hat  to  the  gaze  of  the  crowd,  that  her  guest  might 
partake  in  the  doubtful  fun  if  she  wished. 

Isabel  and  Gwynne,  still  tangled  in  the  paper  streamers 
and  vigorously  pelted  from  below,  leaned  eagerly  over  the 
railing  and  flung  handsful  of  gold  and  silver  bits  upon  the 
already  glittering  throng.  It  certainly  was  an  astonishing 
sight.  There  was  little  seeking  after  inconspicuousness, 
even  in  the  boxes.  All  were  there  to  celebrate  the  birth  of 
the  New  Year,  and  to  "play  the  game,"  however  chastened 
they  might  feel  on  the  morrow.  All  were  drinking  cham 
pagne  and  growing  more  hilarious  every  moment.  One 
girl  modestly  dressed,  and  known  to  Mrs.  Hofer  as  an 
entirely  respectable  young  person,  although  not  of  her  own 
class,  was  sitting  on  the  knee  of  the  man  she  was  to  marry, 
and  drinking  from  his  glass.  The  ladies  of  the  lower  ten 
thousand  were  nicely  graded.  Some  were  dressed  with  a 
severe  and  simple  elegance,  and  painted  as  delicately  as  a 
miniature.  These  were  very  quiet,  the  carven  smile  on 
their  crimson  lips  not  disturbing  the  careful  arrangement 
of  their  features;  and  their  eyes  never  lost  their  jewel-like 
immobility.  They  were  attended  by  what  is  vaguely 
known  as  "men  about  town,"  men  with  money  to  spend 
and  no  position  to  lose.  It  was  no  longer  the  fashion 
among  conspicuous  men  to  flaunt  their  mistresses,  but 
these  indefinite  persons  kept  the  old  traditions  alive. 

534 


A      N      C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

Still  other  women  blazed  with  paint  and  jewels  and  ex 
cessive  richness  of  attire.  In  attendance  were  the  big 
sleek  brutes,  whom  all  other  men  held  in  contempt.  But 
all  were  happy  to-night  and  asking  no  man  for  his  respect. 

At  a  table  in  the  very  middle  of  the  room  was  a  young 
buxom,  and  very  naughty-looking  damsel,  who  evidently 
was  a  belle:  the  circle  of  black  coats  about  her  round 
table  was  unbroken  save  by  herself.  What  dress  she  wore 
was  black,  and  on  her  golden  head  was  an  immense 
black  hat  covered  with  feathers.  Her  abundant  diamonds 
were  almost  overwhelmed.  Every  time  one  of  her  escort 
raised  his  glass  to  his  lips  he  toasted  her,  and  she  rose  to 
respond,  presumably  to  give  the  company  the  benefit  of 
the  tiny  wraist  that  tapered  off  the  white  acre  above.  She 
was  irreverently  hooted,  but  imperturbably  rose  and  fell 
like  a  jack-in-the-box. 

Hofer  finally  sat  down  to  supper  with  his  guests,  but  they 
had  barely  finished  when  every  clock  in  town  began  to 
boom  the  midnight  hour  and  there  was  a  wild  ringing  of 
bells  all  over  the  city.  Down-stairs  one  of  the  young  men 
ran  to  the  orchestra,  whirled  the  leader  from  his  seat,  flung 
off  his  own  coat,  and  led  the  crashing  music  with  a  tin  horn. 
Hofer  and  Gwynne  went  to  the  front  of  the  box,  glasses 
in  hand.  All  below  had  sprung  to  their  feet  and  were 
waving  and  clicking  their  champagne-glasses,  singing,  cat 
calling,  tooting,  cheering.  Even  Isabel  and  Mrs.  Hofer 
leaned  forward.  In  the  turmoil  they  did  not  notice  that 
the  young  woman  in  the  centre  of  the  room  was  standing 
on  her  table,  her  befeathered  head  flung  back,  draining 
her  glass;  but  they  turned  just  in  time  to  see  one  of  her 
admirers  rifle  her  bodice  and  wag  his  trove  at  the  company. 

"This  is  too  much!"  cried  Mrs.  Hofer,  furiously,  and 
535 


ANCESTORS 

running  to  the  back  of  the  box.  "Nicolas,  I  insist!'* 
But  Nicolas  was  enjoying  himself  immensely  and  paid  no 
attention. 

.Isabel  had  been  about  to  follow  Mrs.  Hofer  when  she 
*lost  her  breath  and  nearly  fell  over  the  edge  of  the  box. 
Lady  Victoria,  accompanied  by  a  man  who  was  unmis 
takably  a  pugilist,  had  entered  by  a  side  door. 

Isabel's  brain  seemed  to  eliminate  every  thought  it  had 
ever  possessed  and  hurriedly  to  remodel  down  to  one 
agonizing  point.  The  pair  were  endeavoring  to  force 
their  way  forward  to  a  table  that  evidently  had  been  re 
served  for  them.  Gwynne  was  leaning  over  the  railing 
drinking  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trennahan.  In  a  moment  his 
interested  eyes  would  rove  over  the  crowd  again.  Isabel 
suddenly  fell  on  him,  bearing  him  backward. 

"Take  me  out — quick!"  she  gasped.  "I  am  horribly 
ill!" 

Gwynne,  grasping  his  hat,  was  fairly  borne  out  of  the 
box.  As  Isabel  was  ghastly  and  trembling  he  assumed 
that  she  was  really  ill,  and  made  no  protest,  but  half- 
carried  her  down  the  stair.  They  attracted  no  attention 
and  reached  the  sidewalk  in  a  moment. 

"If  we  can  only  find  a  carriage!"  he  said,  solicitously. 
"You  never  can  walk  up  those  hills.  What  an  atmosphere 
that  was!  I  don't  wonder  you  came  a  cropper.  I  hope 
the  Hofers  won't  mind — 

"Nobody  minds  anything." 

She  took  his  arm  and  they  walked  up  the  street.  The 
bells  were  still  ringing,  horns  tooting,  but  the  street  was 
comparatively  empty.  At  the  corner  a  Salvation  Army 
corps  was  singing  hymns  to  a  flabby  and  penitent  con 
gregation.  Just  beyond  was  a  row  of  hacks  awaiting 

536 


^       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

the  weary  reveller,  and  in  a  moment  Gwynne  and  Isabel 
were  driving  rapidly  along  a  dark  and  deserted  street. 

"  Do  you  feel  better  ?"  he  asked. 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  afraid  of  breaking 
down.  Gwynne  was  sure  to  offer  prompt  consolation, 
and  even  if  he  assumed  the  brotherly  attitude,  she  had  no 
wish  to  be  taken  in  his  arms.  In  spite  of  herself  his  calm 
reiteration  that  he  intended  to  marry  her  had  forced  its 
seed  into  her  brain,  for  ideas  projected  from  bold  deter 
mined  minds  are  insistent  things.  But  never  had  love 
and  all  connected  with  it  been  so  hateful  to  her  as  at  this 
moment.  He  peered  into  her  face. 

"You  are  not  going  to  cry!"  he  exclaimed.     "You!" 

"No,  I  am  not!  But  I  never  was  so  nearly  overcome. 
Such  noise!  Such  sights!  Such  heat!  It  was  too  bad 
to  take  you  away,  though.  Shall  you  go  back  ?" 

"Not  I!  May  I  smoke  ?  We  shall  be  an  hour  reaching 
the  base  of  our  cliff  at  this  rate.  He  is  apparently  going 
out  to  the  cemeteries  under  pretence  of  avoiding  the 
hills." 

He  elevated  his  feet  to  the  opposite  seat  and  lit  a 
cigarette. 

"I  wish  my  mother  had  come  home  before  we  left.  It 
was  a  pity  for  her  to  miss  this.  Even  if  she  would  not 
dine  with  us,  I  could  have  returned  for  her." 

"  I  saw  her  in  the  crowd  with  a  party  of  people.  I  might 
have  told  you,  but  my  mind  has  been  in  as  many  pieces 
to-night  as  a  bag  full  of  confetti.  I  am  sure  she  has  seen 
it  all." 

"Good.  It  was  what  you  might  call  a  trifle  variegated, 
but  not  to  be  missed.  Great  old  town,  this!  No  wonder 
they  think  California  is  the  world,  out  here.  It  is  what 

537 


ANCESTORS 

they  say  of  the  London  flats:  'self-contained.'  I  like 
Hofer  better  than  ever.  The  man  whom  champagne 
transforms  into  a  big  silly  boy  is  the  right  sort.  Is  there 
really  a  workaday  world,  a  city  to  reform,  and  two  ranches 
up  the  valley  ?" 


XXXIX 

THEY  reached  home  sooner  than  might  have  been 
expected,  but  there  were  many  fares  below,  and  the 
hackman  galloped  down  the  hill  as  recklessly  as  if  a  slip 
would  not  have  been  the  death  of  himself  and  his  valiant 
beasts. 

Isabel  went  directly  to  her  room  and  persuaded  Gwynne 
to  go  to  his,  arguing  that  some  one  of  his  mother's  party 
would  be  sure  to  bring  her  home.  As  he  was  to  take  the 
7 130  train  he  made  no  protest.  Even  were  he  still  awake 
when  Lady  Victoria  returned,  the  fog  was  rolling  in;  nor 
was  he  likely  to  be  leaning  from  his  window. 

Isabel  heard  her  come  in  two  hours  later,  and  it  was 
another  hour  before  she  slept.  She  had  determined  to 
ask  her  wayward  but  still  awesome  relative  to  leave  San 
Francisco  before  her  son  found  her  out  or  she  had  time 
more  fully  to  disgrace  him.  But  how  to  approach  the 
most  unapproachable  woman  she  had  ever  known  with  so 
delicate  a  proposition  was  a  question  that  made  her  toss 
about  her  ancestral  bed  and  kept  the  blood  in  her  brain. 
She  recalled  the  slip  of  paper  announcing  a  prize-fight, 
and  wondered  at  her  stupidity;  for  she  had  heard  some 
thing  of  the  resources  of  blasee  women  ere  this. 

Finally  she  fell  asleep.  She  was  awakened  by  a  sharp 
earthquake — grim  herald  of  the  coming  year!  She  was  too 
well  seasoned  to  have  felt  anything  more  than  a  passing 

539 


ANCESTORS 

annoyance,  had  she  not  heard  Lady  Victoria  give  a  piercing 
scream  and  run  from  her  room.  Whereupon  she  rejoiced 
wickedly,  flung  a  wrapper  across  her  shoulders,  and  went 
into  the  hall.  Gwynne  was  standing  in  his  doorway,  look 
ing  more  asleep  than  awake,  and  intensely  disapproving. 
Lady  Victoria  was  leaning  against  the  wall,  her  eyes  wide 
with  terror.  Isabel  took  her  firmly  by  the  arm,  marched 
her  into  her  room,  helped  her  into  a  dressing-gown,  and, 
pushing  her  into  a  chair,  took  one  opposite. 

"How  dreadful!"  exclaimed  Lady  Victoria.  "I  had 
forgotten  about  earthquakes — 

"Earthquake!"  said  Isabel,  contemptuously.  "That 
was  a  mere  vibration.  We  had  sixty-two  of  those  last 
winter.  If  you  only  stay  long  enough  we  will  show  you 
what  California  really  can  do.  Every  ten  years  or  so  we 
have  a  good  hard  shake — enough  to  bring  the  plaster  down; 
and  every  half-century  or  so  she  gets  up  and  turns  over. 
I  have  made  a  specialty  of  earthquakes,  and  could  tell 
you  extraordinary  tales  of  some  of  the  great  ones  of  the 
south—" 

"Please  do  not.  I  prefer  to  forget.  But  don't  leave 
me.  Fancy  Angelique  sleeping  through  such  a  thing!" 

"Doubtless  she  is  not  in  the  house.  All  the  world  was 
out  last  night." 

"Was  it?" 

"I  think  this  as  good  a  time  as  any  other  to  tell  you, 
Cousin  Victoria,  that  I  saw  you  last  night — just  as  the 
clocks  were  striking  twelve." 

"Did  you?" 

Her  trained  features  did  not  betray  her,  but  Isabel  saw 
the  figure  under  the  loose  gown  grow  rigid  and  brace  itself 
against  the  back  of  the  chair.  And  as  Isabel  stared  at  her, 

540 


ANCESTORS 

with  the  desperate  courage  born  of  the  sudden  plunge, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  felt  a  vibration  from  the  nau 
sea,  the  disgust,  the  hatred  of  life,  the  death-rattle  of  great 
passions  dying  hard.  She  wondered  again,  if,  given  the 
same  conditions,  she  would  have  differed  much  from  the 
woman  she  had  brought  to  bay.  Her  early  trials  and 
provincial  upbringing  had  developed  her  Puritan  inher 
itance,  but  she  had  had  flashing  and  startling  glimpses 
of  her  depths  now  and  again.  For  a  moment  she  felt  the 
waters  of  an  immemorial  ennui  rise  high  in  her  own  soul, 
then  drop  to  the  grinning  skulls  and  sparkless  ashes  of  old 
pleasures.  She  shuddered  back,  and  raised  her  eyes  once 
more  to  the  haughty  mask  opposite. 

"I  think  I  understand/'  she  said,  gently.  "But  you 
must  go.  I  kept  him  from  seeing  you  to-night.  But  he 
would  find  out  in  time.  As  you  know  how  he  believes  in 
you,  you  can  imagine  the  consequences.  I  suppose  you 
have  not  done  anything  so  public  before,  or  I  should  have 
heard  of  it.  I  vaguely  recall  that  women  can  look  on  at 
prize-fights  from  private  boxes.  Last  night,  it  isn't  likely 
that  any  one  noticed.  Or  if  they  did  they  would  question 
the  evidence  of  their  senses  in  the  morning,  the  best  of 
them.  So  please  go." 

She  paused.  Lady  Victoria  stared  at  her  without  the 
slightest  change  of  expression.  Isabel  continued  imper- 
turbably.  "London  is  so  vast — if  you  must  have  that 
sort  of  liberty,  for  heaven's  sake  go  where  it  is  most  likely 
to  be  overlooked — and  where  libel  laws  are  operative. 
/'For  all  its  license,  San  Francisco  is  one  of  the  most  cen- 
<£^  sorious  and  unrelenting  societies  in  the  world,  and  has 
more  old-fashioned  people  than  New  York.^  If  you  be 
come  the  talk  of  the  town,  and  those  awful  weekly  papers 


ANCESTORS 

find  you  out,  Elton  will  be  a  long  while  living  it  down.  It 
will  make  ridiculous  all  his  efforts  at  reform.  Perhaps  he 
would  no  longer  care.  I  fancy  it  would  affect  him  that 
way." 

She  rose,  and  Lady  Victoria  rose  also  and  walked  to  the 
door.  As  she  opened  it  she  smiled  grimly.  "You  have 
courage,'*  she  said.  "I  am  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  you  are  the  wife  for  Jack.  I  will  go." 


PART  III 

1906 


ON  the  same  afternoon  Lady  Victoria  developed  ap 
pendicitis  and  went  to  bed  for  two  months.  She 
was  only  in  danger  for  a  short  time,  but  the  doctor  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  giving  her  a  rest  cure,  and  his 
patient,  who  was  profoundly  indifferent,  made  no  protest. 
And  if  invalidism  is  a  career,  an  illness  is  an  adventure; 
moreover,  no  doubt,  it  was  a  relief  to  Victoria  Gwynne  to 
have  her  thinking  done  by  some  one  else  for  a  time. 
Isabel  had  thoughtfully  rung  up  the  handsomest  doctor 
in  San  Francisco  the  moment  the  disease  declared  itself, 
and  it  was  to  be  expected  that  he  would  find  his  patient 
interesting  enough  to  spend  an  hour  by  her  bedside  daily. 
It  was  manifestly  impossible  to  transfer  a  woman  of  Lady 
Victoria's  heroic  proportions  down  that  rickety  and  almost 
perpendicular  flight  of  steps  to  an  ambulance,  but  the 
best  of  nurses  were  engaged,  Anne  Montgomery  agreed 
to  come  every  morning  and  attend  to  the  housekeeping, 
Gwynne  established  a  long-distance  telephone  beside  the 
bed,  and  Mrs.  Trennahan,  whom  Lady  Victoria  liked— 
she  could  not  stand  Mrs.  Hofer — promised  a  daily  visit; 
and  an  automobile  trip  to  the  south  as  soon  as  the  doctor 
would  permit. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  before  Isabel,  who  had  sat  up  with 
Gwynne  during  the  first  two  nights,  and  been  on  the  rush 
ever  since,  was  able  to  return  to  her  ranch.  She  had 

545 


A       N      C       E       S       T^     O       R       S 

offered  to  remain  in  town  altogether,  but  Lady  Victoria 
replied  with  some  show  of  irritation  that  if  either  she  or  her 
son  sacrificed  their  time  and  interests  on  her  account  it 
would  oppress  her  mind  with  a  sense  of  guilt,  and  hinder  her 
recovery.  She  would  telephone  to  them  at  a  certain  hour 
every  day,  and  if  they  came  down  once  a  week  as  usual  she 
should  enjoy  seeing  them,  instead  of  being  worried  by  a 
sense  of  obligation.  In  truth  she  was  glad  to  be  rid  of 
them  for  more  reasons  than  one. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Isabel  arrived  in 
Rosewater,  and  business  detained  her  there  for  several 
hours.  She  dined  with  the  Tom  Coltons,  and  the  con 
versation  was  a  quaint  mixture  of  babies,  politics,  servants, 
and  the  Hofer  ball.  Colton  drove  her  home,  and  talked 
the  steady  monotonous  stream  with  which  he  tricked  the 
world  into  believing  that  his  own  ideas  were  still  in  the 
germ.  Upon  this  occasion  he  might  as  well  have  betrayed 
his  secrets  or  quoted  the  poets,  for  Isabel  paid  no  attention 
whatever  to  his  monologue.  She  was  consumed  with  her 
desire  to  be  alone  once  more.  She  was  tired  of  the  very 
sound  of  the  human  voice,  and  remembered  with  satis 
faction  the  silence  of  her  Chuma  and  the  taciturnity  of  her 
men. 

When  she  finally  reached  her  home  she  illuminated  it 
from  top  to  bottom  and  wandered  about  in  a  passion  of 
delight.  Her  sensation  of  gratitude  and  novelty  in  her 
solitude  and  freedom  could  not  have  been  keener  if  she 
had  been  absent  for  six  months.  Although  it  was  too  cold 
to  sit  out-of-doors,  she  walked  up  and  down  the  piazza 
for  an  hour,  watching  the  crawling  tide  and  the  brown 
tumbled  hills.  The  boat  was  late,  and  every  other  light 
was  out  when  it  appeared,  a  mere  string  of  magic  lanterns 

546 


ANCESTORS 

with  a  red  globe  suspended  aloft.  Isabel  struck  a  match 
and  answered  the  captain's  familiar  greeting  from  his  high 
perch  in  the  pilot-house;  then  went  within,  for  the  fog  was 
rolling  over  Tamalpais,  dropping  down  the  mountains  in 
great  sea  waves.  But  even  then  she  would  not  go  to  bed, 
and  lose  her  knowledge  of  recovered  treasure.  After  a 
time,  however,  she  fell  asleep  in  her  chair  before  the  fire. 
She  awoke  suddenly,  but  drowsily  surprised  and  disap 
pointed  not  to  find  Gwynne  in  the  chair  opposite.  Then 
she  became  aware  of  the  cause  of  her  interrupted  slumbers. 
There  was  the  sound  of  fire-arms  and  of  barking  dogs  on 
the  hills  sacred  to  the  Leghorn.  In  three  minutes  she  had 
her  skirts  off,  her  high  boots  on,  and  was  running,  pistol 
in  hand,  to  the  colony,  announcing  her  coming  by  a  pre 
liminary  discharge.  Then  for  the  next  hour  she  and  her 
men  fought  one  of  those  hordes  of  migratory  rats  that  sud 
denly  steal  upon  chicken-ranches  and  leave  ruin  behind 
them.  Isabel  had  a  genuine  horror  of  rats.  She  would 
far  rather  have  faced  an  army  of  snakes;  but  with  her 
rubber  boots,  the  well-trained  dogs,  and  her  accuracy  of 
aim,  she  had  nothing  to  fear.  Those  that  were  not  slaugh 
tered  were  finally  driven  ofF,  and  Isabel,  content  even  in 
this  phase  of  her  strictly  personal  life,  went  to  bed  and 
slept  the  sleep  of  youth  and  health  and  an  easy  conscience. 
The  next  day  began  the  torrential  rains  that  lasted  for 
three  weeks,  almost  without  an  hour's  intermission;  that 
wiped  out  the  marsh,  and  threatened  floods  for  all  the 
valleys  of  the  north.  The  boats  no  longer  looked  as  if 
cutting  their  way  through  the  lands,  but  adrift  on  a  great 
lake.  Tamalpais  and  the  mountains  below  it  had  dis 
appeared,  as  if  hibernating,  and  the  winds  raged  up  and 
down  the  long  valley,  shaking  old  houses  like  Isabel's  to 

547 


ANCESTOR       S 

their  foundations,  and  leaving  not  a  leaf  on  the  trees. 
Nothing  could  be  wilder  or  more  desolate  than  the  scene 
from  Isabel's  piazza,  where,  encased  in  rubber,  she  took 
her  exercise,  often  battling  every  inch  of  one  way  against 
a  driving  wall  of  rain.  Rosewater,  or  any  sort  of  house 
except  her  own,  she  did  not  see  for  days  at  a  time,  nothing 
but  that  gray  foaming  muttering  expanse  of  water,  its 
flood  and  fall  no  longer  distinguishable.  At  first  she  was 
more  than  content  to  be  so  isolated.  Her  practical  life 
occupied  little  of  her  time;  only  a  daily,  and  always  un 
expected,  dash  up  the  slopes  to  see  that  her  men  were  not 
shirking  their  duties,  and  a  weekly  trip  to  Rosewater  with 
her  produce:  she  used  her  own  incubators  in  bad  weather. 
A  visit  to  San  Francisco  she  did  not  attempt,  and  she  was 
quite  sure  that  the  daily  conversation  over  the  telephone 
— when  it  had  not  blown  down — was  as  sufficing  for  Lady 
Victoria  as  for  herself.  She  read  and  studied  and  dreamed, 
became  indifferent  to  what  she  chose  to  call  her  failure  as 
a  society  ornament,  and  planned  a  larger  future;  to  be  re 
alized  when  she  had  come  to  care  less  for  dreams  and  more 
for  realities.  No  doubt  that  state  of  mind  would  develop 
before  long,  and  meanwhile  she  might  as  well  enjoy  herself 
according  to  her  present  mood.  Nothing  could  alter  her 
belief  that  all  unhappiness  came  from  contacts,  and  cer 
tainly  she  had  proved  her  theories  so  far,  and  took  a 
pagan  joy  in  mere  living.  She  loved  the  wild  battle  of 
the  elements,  the  waste  below  her  garden,  with  as  keen  a 
sensuousness  as  the  spring  and  the  flowers,  and  often  sat 
late  in  her  red  room  by  the  fire  to  enjoy  its  contrast  with 
the  desolation  without. 

But  Gwynne  was  not  a  man  to  be  dismissed  from  the 
thoughts  of  any  one  that  knew  him  as  well  as  his  cousin. 

548 


A    _N_    <^J^__S T O       R       S 

He  had  taken  his  part  in  her  life  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
of  late  they  had  been  very  intimate.  During  the  first 
days  and  nights  of  his  mother's  illness,  they  had  talked, 
or  sat  in  companionable  silence,  by  the  hour.  She  had 
been  assailed  by  regrets  more  than  once  that  she  was  to 
have  no  part  in  his  life,  that  he  had  already  won  some  of 
his  hardest  battles  with  no  help  of  hers,  and  deliberately 
had  matched  their  spirits  and  driven  her  off  the  field  where 
she  had  subtly  sought  to  manage  him.  She  liked  him  the 
better  for  this,  but  while  her  vanity  retired  with  philosophy, 
she  regretted  her  inability  to  help  him.  That  she  had  it 
in  her  to  assist  and  encourage  him  in  many  ways,  she  needed 
to  be  told  neither  by  himself  nor  his  mother,  but  she  was 
unwilling  to  pay  the  price.  That  she  felt  his  charm,  took 
an  even  deeper  interest  in  him  since  he  had  announced  his 
intention  to  marry  her,  she  did  not  pretend  to  deny,  and 
sometimes  caught  herself  looking  out  upon  a  future  in 
which  he  had  as  inevitable  a  part  as  if  it  had  been  decreed 
from  the  beginning  of  time.  She  also  dreamed  of  the  sat 
isfaction  and  pleasure  it  would  give  her  to  make  him  really 
love  her,  become  quite  mad  about  her.  But  again  she  was 
unwilling  to  pay  the  price.  She  argued  that  this  was  merely 
due  to  the  persistence  of  the  solitary  ideal;  and  refused  to 
face  the  cowardice  that  lurked  in  the  bottom  of  her  soul. 
Heroic  in  every  other  development  of  her  highly  bred 
character,  she  had  all  the  secret  fear  and  antagonism  of 
her  sex  for  the  other,  a  profound  resentment  of  the  male 
instinct  for  possession,  and  the  deeper  terror  that  what 
Gwynne  might  find  would  eventually  make  her  wholly  his. 
Life  had  given  her  a  deep  surface;  the  depths  below  it  sent 
up  rare  vibrations;  and  her  mind  was  seldom  unoccupied. 
She  could  add  layer  upon  layer  of  evasions  and  subtleties 

549 


^!_  J^.^  _JL_JL  TORS 

with  no  prospect  of  a  rude  disturbance;  and  when  the 
wind  ceased  for  a  time  she  tramped  over  the  hills.  But 
she  missed  Gwynne  increasingly,  wondered  that  he  did  not 
brave  the  elements  and  come  out  to  her;  finally  felt  herself 
shamefully  neglected,  and  would  not  answer  his  occasional 
telephone  queries  as  to  her  well-being. 


II 


THREE  days  of  floundering  through  the  mud  be 
tween  Lumalitas  and  Rosewater  exhausted  Gwynne's 
patience,  and  he  engaged  a  furnished  suite  of  rooms  on 
Main  Street,  moved  in  his  law  library,  Imura  Kisaburo 
Hinomoto,  and  several  easy-chairs,  invested  in  a  red  wall 
paper  for  his  sitting-room,  and  was  immediately  so  com 
fortable,  and  so  relieved  to  be  rid  of  his  dripping  sighing 
trees  and  flooded  valley,  that  he  was  almost  happy.  As 
he  looked  down  from  his  window  upon  the  slope  of  the 
street  crowded  with  muddy  wagons  and  men  in  oil-skins 
and  high  rubber  boots,  he  recalled  the  ironical  picture 
Isabel  had  drawn,  that  memorable  night  at  Capheaton, 
of  his  own  future  appearance;  and  as  he  could  not  ride 
out  to  Old  Inn  in  any  other  garb,  an  access  of  vanity  de 
terred  him  from  going  at  all.  To  be  sure  he  could  drive 
out  in  a  closed  surrey,  but  he  would  have  felt  equally 
ridiculous,  and  Isabel,  beyond  doubt,  would  scorn  him. 
Better  let  her  think  him  indifferent  for  a  while;  it  might 
do  her  good.  He  could  save  himself  from  discourtesy 
by  telephoning  occasionally,  and,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
the  less  he  thought  of  her  at  present  the  better. 

For  the  first  time  he  came  intimately  in  contact  with  the 
men  of  Rosewater :  "  leading  citizens  "  too  busy  to  call  upon 
him  at  Lumalitas,  or  to  sit  down  in  their  places  of  business 
for  a  chat  during  the  day,  and  too  well  trained  to  ask 

55 i 


ANCESTORS 

strangers  home  for  dinner,  were  any  hospitable  instincts 
left  in  them.  But  they  soon  discovered  that  his  rooms 
were  very  comfortable  and  inviting,  his  whiskey  and  tobacco 
"above  par."  The  homeless  citizens  of  Rosewater,  while 
their  wives  wrangled  at  bridge  or  five-hundred,  fell  into 
the  habit  of  "dropping  in  at  Gwynne's,"  instead  of  going 
to  the  Lodge  or  the  dingy  back  room  of  some  saloon  or 
lawyer's  office.  They  were  at  liberty  to  take  off  their  coats 
and  put  their  feet  on  the  railing  surrounding  the  large  iron 
stove  that  sat  well  out  into  the  room.  There  were  even 
spittoons  for  such  as  clung  to  the  old  tradition;  and  in  a 
short  time  the  large  newly  built,  almost  luxurious  room 
took  on  somewhat  of  the  character  of  that  forum  of  an 
older  time,  the  corner  grocery.  Judge  Leslie  seldom 
honored  these  assemblies,  as  he  was  tired  at  night  and 
rejoiced  in  a  comfortable  home;  nor  did  Tom  Colton, 
whose  domestic  virtues  were  pronounced;  but  Mr.  Wheaton 
came,  and  Mr.  Haight,  Mr.  Boutts,  and  other  solid  business 
men  old  enough  to  be  Gwynne's  father;  and  they  were  all 
deeply  interested  in  Rosewater  first,  State  politics  second, 
and  national  affairs  once  in  four  years;  or  oftener  if  there 
was  any  pyrotechnical  departure  from  routine.  European 
politics  interested  them  not  at  all,  and  if  they  had  any 
suspicion  of  Gwynne's  real  status,  they  were  too  accus 
tomed  to  minding  their  own  business  to  take  any  liberties 
with  his  reserve. 

But  they  were  fully  alive  to  the  importance  of  his  ad 
dition  to  the  community.  He  was  a  large  landholder, 
selling  many  small  farms  to  acceptable  persons;  he  spent 
money  freely,  buying  everything  he  needed  for  his  house 
hold  and  farm  in  Rosewater,  instead  of  sending  to  the 
city;  he  was  studying  law  with  a  view  to  practising  in 

552 


ANCESTORS 

their  midst;  and  now  that  Judge  Leslie — who  proclaimed 
him  a  marvel — was  threatening  to  retire,  his  keen  and 
cautious  fellow-citizens  needed  nothing  more  than  a  man 
of  first-class  legal  ability  to  take  care  of  their  great  and 
varied  interests  and  defend  them  against  the  corporation 
bogie.  They  found  themselves  hinting  that  he  should 
engage  in  politics  as  well,  when  his  probationary  years 
were  over. 

When  Gwynne  shrugged  his  shoulders  one  night  and  re 
marked  bluntly  that  he  had  no  desire  to  work  with  either 
of  the  California  machines,  and  would  unquestionably 
come  a  howling  cropper  if  he  worked  against  either, 
Mr.  Wheaton  answered  with  the  nimbleness  of  a  mind 
already  made  up,  that  he  'could  be  sent  to  Sacramento  on 
an  independent  ticket — manipulated  by  the  honest  men 
of  Rosewater — to  fight  such  of  the  frauds  and  tyrannies 
as  the  State  was  suffering  acutely  from  at  the  moment. 
During  reform  spasms  the  machines  were  practically  pow 
erless,  and  with  the  brilliant  abilities  he  would  be  able 
to  display  as  soon  as  he  entered  public  life,  and  backed 
by  a  powerful  influence,  he  could  win  his  way  to  higher 
things  before  the  wave  subsided.  They  wanted  a  senator 
in  Washington  who  was  for  his  State  first  and  himself  next, 
even  more  than  they  wanted  a  lawyer;  and  for  that  matter 
he  could  serve  their  anti-corporation  interests  better  there 
than  here.  Meanwhile  he  would  have  many  opportunities 
to  speak  and  show  the  stuff  that  was  in  him,  draw  converts 
to  himself  with  his  fiery  eloquence  and  hard  practicality, 
inculcate  the  desire  for  better  things,  and  the  necessity  for 
reducing  the  influence  of  the  army  of  petty  professional 
politicians  to  a  minimum,  make  of  himself  so  central  and 
inspiriting  a  figure  that  when  his  time  came  the  best  ele- 

553 


ANCESTORS 

ment  of  both  parties  throughout  the  State  would  form  an 
independent  body  under  his  leadership. 

This  was  an  alluring  picture,  but  if  Mr.  Wheaton,  who 
had  had  as  little  to  do  with  politics  as  possible,  was  a  bit 
of  a  dreamer,  there  was  no  question  that  his  dreams  were 
shared  by  more  practical  men  at  the  present  moment  than 
for  many  years  past;  and  that  his  theories  were  sound, 
however  formidable  the  alert,  resourceful,  enormously  capi 
talized  army  which  stood  between  them  and  execution. 
His  idol  was  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  in  consequence  he 
"banked"  on  the  good  in  human  nature  as  a  factor, 
which,  in  sudden  recrudescences  of  indignant  energy,  ac 
complished  revolutions  of  far  greater  moment  than  the 
overthrowing  of  political  machines. 

Mr.  Wheaton  had  launched  forth  upon  one  particularly 
stormy  night  when  he  happened  to  be  Gwynne's  only 
guest.  The  host,  not  to  be  outdone,  was  sitting  with  his 
feet  on  the  railing  of  the  stove,  but  as  far  from  the  spittoon 
as  possible.  He  had  listened  to  the  long  monologue, 
which  involved  a  sketch  of  Lincoln's  varied  career,  with 
more  attention  than  might  have  been  inferred  from  his  half- 
closed  eyes,  and  his  pipe  had  gone  out.  It  was  only  recent 
ly  that  any  of  his  neighbors,  barring  Judge  Leslie  and  Tom 
Colton,  who  shared  his  secret,  had  definitely  proposed  a 
political  career  to  him,  in  other  words  divined  his  abilities 
and  ambitions.  But  Mr.  Wheaton  had  once  been  young 
and  adventurous  himself,  and  much  if  not  all  of  his  success 
in  life  was  due  to  his  shrewd  divination  of  human  nature. 
No  man  could  drive  a  harder  bargain  than  "Wash" 
Wheaton  (he  was  named  for  the  father  of  his  country),  but 
he  had  never  been  wanting  in  a  vein  of  humorous  sympa 
thy,  nor  in  a  fair  capacity  for  friendship  as  well  as  enmity. 

554 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

He  raised  his  eyes  from  the  coals  and  looked  directly  at 
Gwynne,  who  was  relighting  his  pipe. 

"I  don't  like  Tom  Colton,"  he  said,  abruptly.  "And 
it's  not  so  much  because  he  is  the  son  of  that  old  skinflint, 
neither.  He  is  a  little  too  much  the  product  of  the  times — 
a  sort  of  polished  up  descendant  of  that  hoodlum  element 
that  terrorized  San  Francisco  in  the  Seventies.  He  start 
ed  out  as  a  mere  or'nary  politician,  but  the  Democratic 
Boss  took  him  up  and  his  ambitions  are  growing.  What 
with  the  money  he  has  and  will  inherit,  and  the  devilish 
gall  of  him,  he  can  play  a  deep  game,  and  his  chances  of 
winning  look  a  little  too  fair  to  suit  a  good  many  of  us. 
He's  nothing  better  than  an  anarchist,  and  without  the 
excuse  of  the  common  anarchist — who,  at  the  worst — or 
his  own  best — risks  his  life.  Tom  Colton  and  men  of  his 
stamp  wouldn't  risk  the  skin  of  their  little  ringers.  All  they 
do  is  to  build  a  red-hot  fire  under  the  political  caldron, 
stir  it  up  with  a  big  stick  until  it  doesn't  know  where  it  is 
at  or  what  it  is  made  of,  and  then  float  into  power  on  the 
steam.  This  has  been  one  of  the  rottenest  States  in  the 
Union  for  a  good  many  years,  and  no  wonder  such  men  as 
Tom  think  they  can  about  do  as  they  please;  but  a  good 
many  are  getting  pretty  damned  tired  of  it,  and  there's  a 
sort  of  reform  mutter  going  on  here  and  there  that  will 
gather  and  swell  if  skilfully  manipulated.  We've  been 
talking  you  over,  and  have  concluded  to  back  you  up  for 
all  we  are  worth  as  soon  as  you  are  ready — that  is  to  say 
we  would  but  for  one  drawback — your  friendship  with 
Colton." 

"If  you  choose  to  call  it  that.  I  have  told  him  in  as 
plain  English  as  he  will  ever  hear  what  I  think  of  his 
politics,  and  that  if  I  ever  enter  public  life  myself  I  shall 
35  555 


ANCESTORS 

devote  my  energies  to  running  him  and  his  like  out  of  it. 
He  is  too  good-natured  and  too  sure  of  himself — and  his 
State! — to  mind.  Moreover,  he  has  four  years  the  start 
of  me.  It  is  possible  that  I  shall  go  to  Sacramento  with, 
and  even  speak  for,  him;  but  he  understands  perfectly 
that  I  am  only  after  experience,  will  advocate  nothing  I 
disapprove  of — he  actually  has  certain  reforms  in  his 
political  basket,  and  whatever  may  be  his  intention  to 
compromise  when  he  reaches  Sacramento,  I,  at  least,  can 
advocate  them  in  all  sincerity;  and  further  open  the  eyes 
of  all  these  people  to  what  they  ought  to  want  and  to  have. 
All  this  is  perfectly  understood  between  us.  I,  and  the  hon 
est  public  clamoring  for  its  rights,  do  not  weigh  a  feather  in 
the  scale,  in  his  opinion,  against  the  might  of  organization." 

"Very  good.  I  suspicioned  something  of  the  sort.  He 
can't  corrupt  you,  and  you  couldn't  get  a  better  insight 
into  corruption  than  through  him;  so  fire  away.  What's 
your  program,  anyhow  ?" 

"It's  too  soon  to  make  one — be  sure  that  I  am  willing  to 
return  your  confidence  with  my  own" — as  the  sharp  china- 
blue  eyes  opposite  contracted;  "but  I  can  do  little  now  ex 
cept  win  the  confidence  of  the  farmers  in  this  district  and 
of  men  like  yourself.  But  if  a  reform  party  does  achieve 
power,  if  only  for  a  term,  the  first  thing  for  it  to  do  is  to 
overhaul  the  ballot  system.  Before  we  reformed  ours  we 
were  as  deep  in  the  mire  as  yourselves.  When  the  Amer 
ican  voter  is  under  the  supervision  of  an  honest  judiciary, 
a  general  system  of  local  reforms  will  follow  as  a  matter 
of  course." 

Mr.  Wheaton  sighed.  "You  would  have  to  begin  with 
the  judiciary.  If  you  reformed  them,  and  had  any  strength 
left,  and  then  reformed  the  ballot  in  the  manner  of  your 

556 


ANCESTORS 

own  country,  I  guess  you'd  get  about  anything  you  wanted. 
But  you'll  need  a  tidal  reform  wave,  I'm  afraid.  However, 
you  never  can  tell  what  one  year  will  bring  forth  in  this 
country.  On  the  other  hand,  the  results  of  certain  re 
forms,  fought  and  died  for,  have  done  as  much  to  make  us 
pessimists  as  any  of  the  immovable  abuses.  Take  the 
question  of  Civil  Service  Reform,  for  instance.  In  the  old 
days  when  you  wanted  to  induce  a  man  to  give  you  the 
benefit  of  his  abilities  and  influence  during  an  election, 
you  held  out  hopes  of  preferment,  and  he  took  your  word 
if  he  knew  your  word  was  good,  and  worked  with  a  decent 
sort  of  ambition — all  things  being  relative.  What  hap 
pens  now  ?  Few  find  anything  promising  or  attractive  in 
the  competitive  examination.  You  ask  a  man — the  pro 
fessional  politician  he  is  now,  sure  enough — to  help  you 
get  your  candidate,  or  yourself,  in,  and  what  happens  ? 
The  gentleman  coolly  demands,  'How  much?'  and  holds 
out  his  hand.  You  fill  it  or  he  turns  his  back  and  walks 
ofF.  There  is  just  that  much  less  of  good  left  to  appeal  to  in 
this  particular  brand  of  human  nature.  Ours  is  a  much 
more  complicated  civilization  than  yours,  Mr.  Gwynne. 
You  were  dealing  with  Britishers  only,  in  1832.  We  are 
trying  to  digest  the  riffraff  of  the  world,  and  can't  do  it, 
in  spite  of  such  incorrigible  optimists  as  Judge  Leslie. 
Immigrants  in  the  first  generation  have  just  about  as  much 
feeling  for  the  American  flag  as  a  chicken  has  for  Rose- 
water.  They  look  upon  vote-selling  as  a  legitimate  way 
of  improving  their  fortunes,  and  they  are  the  easy  prey  of 
such  agitators  as  Colton,  because  they  had  nothing  in  their 
own  countries,  and  want  the  earth  in  this.  Of  course  their 
children  go  to  the  public  schools,  and  become  Americans, 
but  we  always  have  the  problem  of  fresh  hordes  to  deal 

557 


ANCESTORS 

with.  And  new  and  old — it  is  easy  to  plant  the  weevil  in 
their  brains  that  the  rich  have  corralled  all  the  money,  and 
the  laborer — even  in  California,  where  he  gets  the  highest 
wages  paid  on  this  earth — is  a  miserable  victim,  and  en 
titled  to  all  he  doesn't  make.  They  never  remember  that 
nearly  every  capitalist  in  the  country  has  risen  from  their 
own  ranks,  and  that  their  dreams  are  mainly  occupied  with 
doing  the  same.  But  you  might  as  well  talk  to  the  trade- 
winds,  especially  with  such  men  as  Tom  Colton  stirring  the 
caldron.  'Get  rich  quick;  and  selling  votes  is  as  good  a 
starter  as  any.'  There  you  have  the  moral  sickness  of  the 
country  in  a  nutshell.  And  few  professions  pay  better 
than  that  of  the  politician.  The  pettiest  division  leader, 
who  does  the  Boss's  dirtiest  work,  and  has  fewer  redeem 
ing  virtues  than  the  midnight  burglar,  makes  such  a  good 
thing  out  of  it  that  the  prettiest  Salvation  Army  lass  couldn't 
convince  him  of  the  error  of  his  ways.  And  he  enjoys 
himself.  To  hang  around  saloons,  prize-fights,  help  out 
shyster  lawyers  with  their  tricks,  and  play  the  game  hard 
during  election  times— that  satisfies  him  until  he  sees  a 
chance  of  stepping  into  a  bigger  pair  of  boots  of  the  same 
make.  But,  thank  God,  there  are  more  honest  men  out 
of  politics  than  in.  That  is  the  trouble,  but  there  they 
are,  and  it  will  be  a  part  of  your  business  to  round  them 
up.  Well,  I  guess  I've  held  forth  long  enough.  I'll  send 
you  round  a  few  volumes  from  my  Lincoln  library  to 
morrow.  I  always  go  to  it  when  I  lose  my  faith  in  human 
nature.  Good-night." 

And  he  gathered  up  his  long  legs  and  went  out. 

In  his  many  talks  with  his  friends  in  San  Francisco, 
Gwynne   had   received  practically  the  same  suggestions 

558 


A_ N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

The  lawyer  who  advised  this  group  in  its  necessarily  in 
termittent  campaign  against  the  San  Francisco  politicians 
was  one  of  the  ablest  in  the  United  States.  He  had  of 
fered  Gwynne  a  place  in  his  office,  a  *  courtesy  partnership,' 
when  he  was  ready  to  move  to  the  city.  But  Gwynne 
deliberately  remained  undecided  for  the  present,  although 
half  inclined  to  practise  in  the  country  for  some  years. 
If  he  could  not  have  the  inestimable  education  of  the  old 
days,  when  lawyers  jogged  about  the  country  with  the 
circuit  judges  for  months  at  a  time,  he  could  at  least  get 
into  close  contact  with  the  plain  people  in  a  manner  that 
in  a  city  would  be  practically  impossible.  Until  the  rains 
began,  and  after  his  definite  understanding  with  Colton, 
he  had,  during  his  hours  of  exercise,  formed  the  habit  of 
"dropping  in"  upon  the  small  farmers  of  his  political 
district,  under  pretence  of  asking  their  advice;  gauging  and 
sowing.  Upon  the  men  that  had  bought  land  of  him  he 
was  able  to  bestow  many  small  favors,  and  his  old  ex 
perience  with  the  tenantry  of  Capheaton  gave  him  an  in 
stinctive  knowledge  of  their  wants  that  added  to  the  sum 
of  his  popularity.  To  his  inferiors  he  had  never  shown 
the  arrogance  of  his  nature,  and  he  welcomed  these  small 
toilers  as  a  substitute  for  his  old  tenants;  for  he  had  missed 
the  poor  that  kept  the  sympathies  quick — and,  perhaps, 
gave  richer  shadows  to  life. 

His  long  lank  American  figure  and  slight  resemblance  to 
Hiram  Otis,  who  had  been  an  institution  if  not  a  favorite, 
his  readiness  to  stand  drinks  to  his  farmer  acquaintances, 
and  others,  whom  he  happened  to  meet  in  Main  Street, 
the  approachableness  he  had  cultivated  with  some  effort, 
combined  with  the  subtle  suggestion  that  he  would  not 
permit  a  liberty;  a  characteristic  that  every  true  man  re- 

559 


ANCESTORS 

spects;  his  reputation  for  being  "dead  straight,"  and  his 
insistence  upon  receiving  his  just  dues — "all  that  was 
coming  to  him" — in  spite  of  the  easy  terms  he  made  with 
several  to  whom  he  sold  land;  all  this,  in  addition  to 
the  dignity  of  being  the  largest  rancher  in  the  county, 
and  a  law  partner  of  Judge  Leslie,  had  quickly  made  him 
a  marked  as  well  as  a  popular  figure.  Even  his  accent  was 
unnoted  in  that  State  of  many  accents. 

He  had  thought  out  for  himself  all  that  Mr.  Wheaton 
had  suggested,  and  if  he  still  had  his  moments  of  de 
pression  and  disgust,  and  even  of  revolt,  much  of  his 
old  confidence  was  returning;  although  he  sometimes  re 
flected,  with  a  sort  of  whimsical  bitterness,  upon  the  dif 
ficulty  of  sustaining  an  impression  of  innate  greatness  un 
aided  by  an  occasional  demonstration.  But  he  had,  at 
least,  learned  to  see  people  merely  as  human  beings  with 
out  taking  their  shells  into  account;  and  he  also  realized 
that  in  those  storms  of  spirit,  which,  at  the  time,  he  had 
deprecated  as  ebullitions  from  a  too  mercurial  nature,  he 
had  developed  more  rapidly  and  precisely  than  many  a 
man  does  by  the  exterior  catastrophe.  And  impersonally 
his  admiration  for  the  land  of  one  set  of  forefathers  grew, 
although  personally  he  remained  cold.  But  he  cultivated 
all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  and  hopefully  trained 
himself  for  the  enthusiastic  moment. 

There  were  even  times  when,  surrounded  by  his  Rose- 
water  friends,  with  their  lapses  into  quaint  American 
speech  and  their  intense  localism,  the  old  Otis  blood 
stirred  in  him  very  strongly;  he  caught  himself  using 
phrases  and  figures  that  no  doubt  were  an  inheritance 
with  his  brain  cells.  When  the  walls  and  furnishings  of 
his  room  were  obscured  by  smoke,  and  there  were  half  a 

560 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

dozen  pairs  of  boots  against  his  stove,  it  was  not  difficult 
to  fancy  himself  back  in  the  old  corner  grocery  on  a 
winter's  night:  his  companions  drinking  apple  cider,  in 
stead  of  rye  whiskey,  and  the  orator  of  the  moment  sitting, 
by  preference,  on  a  barrel,  and  munching  crackers. 

In  San  Francisco,  which  he  visited  twice  a  week  on  his 
return  from  Berkeley,  when  alone  in  the  long  sloping 
streets  swept  with  the  wind-driven  rain,  when  the  gutters 
roared  and  the  houses  looked  as  deserted  as  their  huddled 
beaten  gardens,  stories  Isabel  had  told  him  of  the  days  of 
the  Argonauts  rose  like  ghosts  in  his  brain,  and  he  wauld 
suddenly  experience  an  overwhelming  sensation  of  being 
at  home.  His  mother  promptly  dispelled  these  visions. 

On  the  whole  his  time  was  too  fully  occupied  to  leave 
him  more  than  stray  moments  for  the  subtler  mood;  but 
as  day  after  day,  finally  week  after  week  passed,  wTith  no 
prospect  of  fair  weather,  the  monotony  and  confinement 
affected  his  nerves,  he  tired  of  the  unrelieved  companion 
ship  of  men,  and  wished  that  Isabel  would  move  in  to 
Rosewater  for  the  winter  months.  He  rang  her  up,  when 
this  brilliant  idea  occurred  to  him,  but  was  informed  by 
Chuma  that  she  was  not  in  the  house.  On  the  following 
day  he  telephoned  again,  and  learned  that  she  slept,  on 
the  third  that  she  was  engaged  in  the  delicate  operation 
of  extracting  some  deleterious  substance  from  the  crop 
of  a  valuable  hen.  Whereupon  he  swore  vigorously,  and 
vowed  that  he  would  forget  her  until  the  skies  cleared. 
But  "the  skies  they  were  ashen  and  sober,"  and  he  caught 
himself  dreaming  over  his  "Torts,"  or  during  one  of  Mr. 
Boutts's  ecstatic  visions  of  Rosewater  with  a  great  hotel 
in  the  style  of  the  old  Missions,  and  an  electric  railway. 
(Mr.  Boutts,  by-the-way,  never  elevated  his  feet  to  the 


ANCESTORS 

railing  of  the  stove,  but  always  sat  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair,  a  hand  on  either  knee.)  He  took  the  train  im 
pulsively  to  San  Francisco,  one  afternoon,  and  talked  of 
reinforced  concrete  with  his  contractor,  and  San  Fran 
cisco  politics  with  Hofer.  He  even  called  upon  several 
young  ladies,  who  interested  him  less  than  ever,  and 
returned  to  Rosewater  at  the  end  of  four  days  with  a 
sense  of  duties  neglected  and  a  slip  in  his  self-mastery. 
This  put  him  in  such  a  bad  humor  that  he  directed  his 
Asiatic  to  refuse  him  to  the  members  of  his  informal  Club, 
and  wished  he  were  back  in  San  Francisco  doing  the  town 
with  Stone. 


Ill 


HE  was  glowering  into  the  open  door  of  the  stove  and 
wondering  why  on  earth  he  had  not  remained  in  town 
over  Sunday  at  least,  when  he  became  aware  that  his 
noiseless  Jap  was  standing  at  his  elbow. 

"What  is  it  ?"  he  demanded,  testily.  "I  wish  you  would 
get  a  pair  of  creaky  boots." 

"A  gentleman,"  replied  the  impervious  Oriental. 

"I  told  you  I  would  not  see  anybody." 

"But  he  has  a  card."  It  was  not  often  that  the  cool 
even  tones  of  Imura  Kisabura  Hinomoto  fluctuated,  but 
Gwynne  detected  a  faint  accent  of  respect.  Somewhat 
surprised  himself,  he  glanced  at  the  card.  It  bore  the 
name  of  one  of  the  judges  of  one  of  the  benches  provided 
for  by  the  constitutions  of  both  nation  and  State.  He  had 
a  summer  home  on  the  mountain  opposite  and  relatives 
in  Rosewater,  so  there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  his 
being  in  the  little  town  on  a  rainy  winter  Sunday.  Never 
theless,  Gwynne's  instinct  of  caution,  more  active  than 
usual  during  the  past  year,  stirred  sharply. 

"  Show  him  in,"  he  said.  "  And  bring  the  whiskey — both 
Rye  and  Scotch." 

This  was  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  the  bluff,  hearty, 
breezy,  almost  ingenuous  Westerner  that  Gwynne  had  en 
countered.  The  judge,  who  had  been  relieved  of  his  hat 
and  overcoat  by  the  admirable  Imura,  advanced  with  both 

563 


A       N      C       E       S       TORS 

hands  outstretched,  and  Gwynne  could  do  no  less  than  sur 
render  his,  although  he  had  never  fancied  any  one  less. 
The  judge  was  a  big  man  with  a  round  jolly  face,  set  with 
a  sensual  mouth,  a  pendulous  nose,  and  merry  twinkling 
eyes.  Although  possibly  no  more  than  fifty-five  years  of 
age,  the  baldness  of  his  head  had  amplified  the  common 
noble  domelike  American  brow:  behind  which  Gwynne 
had  so  often  groped  and  found  nothing.  This  man  was  in 
dubitably  clever,  and  to  a  less  educated  eye  than  Gwynne's 
his  face  would  appeal  and  fascinate.  His  magnetism  was 
superlative. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Gwynne!"  he  exclaimed.  "Believe  me 
when  I  say  that  this  is  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  mo 
ments  of  my  life.  I  was  forced  to  come  to  this  God-for 
saken  hole  last  night,  and  had  it  not  been  for  you  I  should 
have  taken  the  morning  train  back  to  the  city.  But  when 
I  heard  that  you  were  in  town — you  were  pointed  out  to 
me  as  we  both  left  the  train — I  knew  that  my  oppor 
tunity  had  come.  And — my  dear  young  gentleman — I 
throw  away  no  opportunities;  I  throw  away  no  opportu 
nities." 

By  this  time  Gwynne  had  steered  him  into  the  largest  of 
the  chairs,  and  offered  him  his  choice  of  the  whiskies. 
The  judge,  after  an  instant's  hesitation,  accepted  the 
Scotch;  and  Gwynne  felt  that  he  had  a  tactful  and  dan 
gerous  man  to  deal  with. 

"Excellent!"  exclaimed  the  judge,  and  he  smacked  his 
lips.  He  inhaled  the  aroma  of  the  cigar  voluptuously. 
"But  my  dear  old  friend,  Judge  Leslie,  whom  I  ran  in  to 
see  for  a  few  moments  this  morning,  told  me — with  his 
customary  humor — that  you  were  as  remarkable  for  the 
superior  quality  of  your  whiskey  and  tobacco  as  for  the 

564 


A      N      C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

many  personal  qualities  that  have  so  rapidly  endeared  you 
to  the  citizens  of  Rosewater." 

"  Thanks/'  said  Gwynne. 

The  judge  changed  his  tactics  instantly.  "I  cannot 
beat  about  in  the  dark  and  merely  turn  myself  loose  in 
pleasant  generalities,  Mr.  Gwynne,"  he  said,  gravely.  "I 
am  going  to  tell  you  at  once  that  I  am  positive  you  are 
Elton  Gwynne.  Judge  Leslie  would  give  me  no  satis 
faction  this  morning,  but  I  needed  none.  I  happened  to 
be  employed  in  old  Colton's  bank  in  my  younger  days — as 
secretary — and  although  that  was  a  long  time  ago — a  long 
time  ago! — it  came  back  to  me,  when  I  began  to  hear  so 
much  about  our  new  rancher,  that  his  full  name  was  John 
Elton  Cecil  Gwynne,  and  that  he  was  the  only  son  of  his 
mother.  Or — if  impressions  are  confused  after  so  long 
an  interval — I  may  have  gathered  the  last  fact  from  James 
Otis,  whom  I  knew  very  well.  He  and  Hi,  indeed,  I  may 
honestly  say,  were  among  my  few  intimate  friends,  despite 
some  disparity  in  years.  So,  I  have  a  double  interest  and, 
I  modestly  hope,  claim  upon  you.  The  former  at  least 
has  been  accentuated  since  yesterday,  when  your  likeness 
to  Hi  struck  me  very  painfully.  You  are  a  vast  improve 
ment,  I  grant,  for  Hi  was  as  ugly  as  mud  and  as  cross  as 
two  sticks,  but  the  resemblance  is  acute,  odd  as  it  may 
appear.  Those  things  are  very  subtle,  very  subtle." 

Gwynne  had  heard  the  keys  of  his  secret  weakness  tinkle 
for  a  full  bar,  but  while  it  improved  his  humor  it  did  not 
cloud  his  judgment,  and  he  applied  himself  to  finding  out 
the  purpose  of  the  man's  visit. 

"I  regret  very  much  that  I  have  come  too  late  to  know 
any  of  my  male  relatives,"  he  said,  affably.  "Hiram  Otis, 
from  all  I  hear,  was  an  able  man,  if  somewhat  soured, 

565 


ANCESTORS 

and  his  unfortunate  brother  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
lawyers  of  his  day.  Terrible  thing,  this  reckless  drinking 
in  San  Francisco.  I  was  told  yesterday  that  when — a 
few  years  ago — an  editor  was  sent  out  from  New  York  to 
assume  charge  of  one  of  your  most  flourishing  dailies,  he 
made  the  entire  staff  go  down  to  Los  Gatos  and  take  the 
Keeley  cure.  Then,  for  a  time,  he  had  relays  of  sober 
men,  at  least,  but  until  then  he  had  felt  himself  a  lonely 
Philistine — besides  taking  a  hand  in  every  department  of 
the  'shop/  even  setting  type  at  times.  But  it's  a  fasci 
nating  old  town,  all  the  same.  Too  fascinating,  I  fear." 
And  he  managed  to  fetch  a  remorseful  sigh. 

The  judge,  who  had  laughed  heartily  at  the  anecdote, 
dismissed  his  twinkle  for  a  moment,  and  looked  at  the 
young  man  with  concern. 

"For  God's  sake,"  he  said,  softly,  "don't  tell  me  that 
you  have  inherited  that  microbe." 

"Oh  no,  indeed!"  said  Gwynne,  cheerfully.  "I  never 
could  take  to  drink  now — a  man's  character  is  pretty  well 
formed  at  thirty-two,  I  fancy,  and  I  scarcely  ever  touch 
spirits  when  alone — prefer  the  lighter  wines.  Only,  as 
San  Francisco  is  so  convivial,  one  naturally  imbibes  a 
good  deal,  especially  with  friends  addicted  to  the  *  cocktail 
route' — and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  give  up  the  city 
for  the  present  and  stick  to  work." 

"The  judge  tells  me  that  your  legal  powers  are  really 
amazing — that  you  have  accumulated  more  law  in  four 
months — " 

"Tut!  Tut!"  cried  Gwynne,  springing  to  his  feet  and 
reaching  the  table  in  a  stride.  "Have  some  more  whiskey, 
judge.  And  don't  flatter  me  any  more.  I  am  afraid  that 
vanity  is  my  besetting  weakness — 

566 


ANCESTORS 

"  Thank  God  it  is  not  the  other!"  said  the  older  man, 
fervently.  "And  vanity  keeps  the  heart  younger  than 
anything  I  know  of.  Lose  the  power  of  being  tickled 
by  a  compliment  and  inflated  by  success,  and  you  lose  the 
salt  of  life.  But  I  am  delighted  that  you  have  taken  to  the 
law.  I  know  your  English  career  like  a  book,  and  al 
though  I  do  not  pretend  even  to  guess  at  the  motives  which 
induced  you  to  fling  aside  not  only  the  most  promising 
career  in  England,  but  one  of  the  noblest  of  her  titles,  I 
may  say,  sir — and  I  may  speak  for  my  fellow-citizens,  the 
whole  million  of  them — I  am  deeply  flattered,  and  grati 
fied,  that,  whatever  your  motive,  which  could  only  be  an 
honorable  one,  you  have  chosen  this  fair  State  as  the 
theatre  of  your  future  triumphs.  I  hope  I  shall  see  you 
beside  me  on  the  bench — unless,  to  be  sure,  you  have 
higher  ambitions  than  the  mere  practice  of  law." 

"The  first  men  in  the  country  have  been  lawyers,"  said 
Gwynne,  politely.  "Why  aspire  higher?" 

"Why,  indeed?  But  I  think  you  will.  The  law  fre 
quently  leads  either  to  one  of  the  benches  or  into  the  more 
active  field  of  politics.  And  you — with  your  enormous 
energies — you  will  never  be  content  with  the  law,  pure  and 
simple,  no  matter  how  brilliant  a  reputation  you  might 
achieve." 

"But  honest  lawyers  are  so  rare!"  exclaimed  Gwynne, 
boyishly.  "I  do  believe  I  should  be  an  honest  one.  That, 
at  least,  is  the  intention  I  have  set  beside  my  ambition.  I 
am  ambitious,  judge,  as  no  doubt  you  have  divined,  and 
the  prospect  of  being  shelved  among  the  lords  sickened  me. 
I  wanted  to  make  a  career  for  myself,  so  cut  the  whole 
business  and  came  here  where  my  American  properties 
were.  Besides,  as  it  happened,  I  inherited  practically 

567 


A       N       C       E       S       TORS 

nothing  with  which  to  keep  up  my  English  estates.  There! 
You  have  my  reasons,  judge,  and  you  are  welcome  to  them. 
Titles  without  money  are  mere  embarrassments.  Still,  I 
really  should  have  left,  had  it  been  otherwise — I  am  certain 
I  should.  I  never  could  stand  the  inaction  of  the  Upper 
House.  Nor  do  I  care  for  those  compensatory  honors  that 
my  position  and  family  influence  might  have  secured  for 
me.  And  now  I  feel  more  the  American  every  day.  I 
have  even  grown  keen  on  making  money — which  I  rather 
disdained  at  home;  for  the  matter  of  that,  thought  little 
about  it.  You  may  not  know  that  I  am — in  partnership, 
as  it  were,  with  my  mother  and  cousin — putting  up  a  large 
Class  A  building  in  San  Francisco  ?" 

He  inferred  that  there  was  little  about  him  the  judge 
did  not  know,  but  accepted  the  interested  "Ah!"  and 
rhapsodized  over  his  new  interests.  The  Judge  listened 
with  a  benignant  smile  and  a  twinkling  eye,  every  once  in  a 
while  giving  the  tip  of  his  long  fleshy  nose  an  abrupt  shove, 
as  if  it  impeded  his  breathing. 

"Just  so!"  he  exclaimed.  "Just  so!  It  is  the  Otis 
blood.  No  better  pioneer  blood  in  the  State.  Jim  was 
the  wild  one.  The  others  were  as  steady  as  rocks.  Their 
father  and  grandfather — your  ancestors,  sir — helped  to 
make  this  great  State  what  it  is.  Their  names  will  always 
be  honored  in  the  annals  of  California.  Terrible  pity  Jim 
and  Hi  got  away  with  so  much.  If  they'd  hung  on  as  your 
mother  and  her  mother  did,  Miss  Isabel  would  be  one  of 
the  heiresses.  But  she  seems  able  to  take  care  of  herself, 
and  with  that  face  and  form,  I  guess  she  can  redeem  her 
fortunes  any  way  she  chooses.  I  hear  that  young  Harry 
Hofer  can't  talk  of  anything  else." 

Gwynne  wondered  if  this  were  what  the  judge  had  come 
568 


ANCESTORS 

for,  but  exonerated  him,  concluding  that  he  was  merely 
rambling  on  in  the  hope  of  an  opening. 

"No  doubt!"  he  said,  heartily.  "Miss  Otis  could  marry 
any  one  she  pleased.  One  of  the  best  titles  in  England 
was  hers  for  the  asking,  by-the-way.  But  like  myself  she 
is  too  good  an  American — shall  I  say  Californian  ? — to 
live  anywhere  but  here.  She  is  immensely  successful  with 
her  chickens,  and  we  shall  all  make  money  on  this  new 
deal — I  am  certain  of  that." 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt.  Things  are  booming  in  San 
Francisco.  You'll  get  a  huge  rent  from  a  building  of  that 
size — in  time.  Pity  it  has  to  be  divided  among  three  of 
you.  And  there  will  be  a  big  mortgage  to  pay  off  first,  I 
suppose;  and  it  is  in  a  very  precarious  district,  a  very  pre 
carious  district."  And  once  more  the  twinkle  retired  and 
he  gazed  dreamily  at  the  fire. 

"Oh,  even  golden  apples  have  to  ripen.  And  I  have 
taken  every  precaution  against  fires.  Have  some  more 
whiskey,  Judge." 

"Don't  care  if  I  do."  Gwynne  knew  that  the  Scotch 
scalded  a  throat  caressed  these  many  years  with  the  oily 
rye,  and  put  as  little  seltzer  in  it  as  he  dared.  But  the 
judge  sipped  it  heroically.  Suddenly  the  twinkle  danced 
back  to  his  eye  as  he  turned  it  upon  Gwynne. 

"You  can't  delude  me!"  he  cried.  "You  can't,  sir. 
I  know  you  intend  to  go  in  for  politics.  Nothing  else 
would  ever  satisfy  your  genius.  Own  up,  now." 

"Well,"  said  Gwynne,  modestly.  "I  have  thought  of  it. 
After  rny  five  years  are  up,  of  course — makes  one  feel 
rather  like  a  convict.  Meanwhile  I  can  make  some  head 
way  with  the  law:  or,  shall  I  say,  build  up  a  reputation 
that  may  be  useful  to  me  when  I  am  able  to  run  for  office." 

569 


ANCESTORS 

"Ah!  Just  so!  Great  pity  you  were  ever  discharged 
from  your  American  indigenate.  Then  one  year  in  Cal 
ifornia  would  settle  the  matter.  Which  of  our  parties 
makes  the  strongest  appeal  to  you  ?" 

Gwynne's  eyes  had  contracted  and  he  was  staring  at  the 
stove.  But  his  abstraction  was  too  brief  to  be  noticed, 
and  he  answered  in  a  confidential  tone,  "Well,  Judge,  to 
tell  you  the  truth — "  And  then  he  stopped  and  laughed. 

"I  see.     You  think  one  is  about  as  bad  as  the  other." 

"Well,  I  am  afraid  that  is  it." 

"Oh,  my  boy,  they're  not  nearly  as  bad  as  they  are  made 
out  to  be — our  American  politics.  Judge  Leslie  is  dotty 
on  that  subject,  and  so  are  a  good  many  of  the  other  old 
fossils  of  Rosewater.  I  don't  say  but  that  San  Francisco 
would  be  the  better  for  a  good  spring  cleaning,  but  the 
State's  not  nearly  so  bad  as  it's  painted,  not  nearly  so  bad 
as  it's  painted." 

He  delivered  his  repeated  phrases  with  an  unctuous  in 
dulgent  roll  that  made  Gwynne  long  to  grind  his  teeth. 
But  the  prospective  American  merely  raised  an  interroga 
tive  eyebrow.  "I  don't  hear  much  good  in  any  direc 
tion,"  he  murmured. 

"Of  course,!  can  understand  that  you  have  seen  through 
Tom  Colton,  and  that  he  has  appalled  you  as  much  as  the 
fossils.  He's  in  a  hurry,  and  if  he  isn't  mighty  careful  the 
machine  will  throw  him  down.  For  all  his  affected  sim 
plicity  he's  too  fond  of  the  limelight:  loves  to  see  his  name 
in  print;  and  when  he  makes  a  donation  to  a  charity  or  an 
improvement  scheme  he  uses  up  all  the  fireworks  in  the 
State." 

"I  was  under  the  impression  that  he  was  in  high  favor 
with  the  district  Boss— 

570 


A       N      C       E       S       T       0       R       S 

"The  district  Boss  is  getting  old,  and  Tom,  one  way  or 
another,  has  acquired  a  great  influence  over  him;  but  I 
happen  to  know  that  he  doesn't  stand  any  too  well  with  the 
State  Democratic  Boss." 

"If  Tom  were  really  earnest  in  his  reforms,  really  had 
the  interest  of  the  common  people  at  heart — although  I 
never  saw  common  people  so  well  off  in  my  life — but  the 
point  is  that  if  Tom  were  really  sincere  he  might  form  an 
independent  party." 

"Well,  he  can.  It  won't  do  him  any  good.  It  wouldn't 
do  even  you  any  good  to  work  up  a  reform  party,  and  your 
abilities  are  to  his  as  a  thousand  to  one.  In  fact  a  man 
like  yourself  would  have  far  less  chance.  They  would  let 
Tom  amuse  himself,  but  they  would  find  you  really  dan 
gerous,  and  the  upshot  would  be  that  the  two  parties  would 
unite  and  crush  you.  Crush  you  flat.  You  might  be  a 
George  Washington,  Alexander  Hamilton,  and  Abraham 
Lincoln  rolled  into  one,  and  you  would  emerge  from  the 
swift  and  simultaneous  impact  of  those  two  cast-iron  walls 
flatter  than  the  sole  of  your  boot.  Even  if  you  made  a 
good  running  on  a  reform  wave,  so  much  the  worse.  Re 
form  waves  merely  serve  the  purpose  of  making  some  poor 
devil  conspicuous  and  recklessly  optimistic,  then  subside 
and  leave  him  high  and  dry — at  the  mercy  of  the  ever-re 
cuperating  machine.  It's  enough  to  make  a  man  wish  he'd 
never  been  born.  I've  seen  it  more  than  once.  There's 
only  one  of  two  results.  They  are  either  so  disgusted  with 
politics  that  they  stay  out  of  them  for  the  rest  of  their 
lives,  or  they  pick  themselves  up  and  make  a  bolt  for  the 
machine  they  think  most  likely  to  give  them  a  career. 
Look  at  some  of  our  most  illustrious  incumbents.  Great 
bluff  on  the  outside — which  the  machine  don't  mind  one 
36  571 


ANCESTORS 

little  bit — and  the  best  sort  of  a  party  man  inside;  walking 
a  chalked  line  with  no  rebellious  wings  on  his  feet.  Wings 
don't  grow  on  clay.  But  they  are  right,  Mr.  Gwynne,  and 
not  because  they  are  wrong,  either.  In  this  great  country 
organization  is  absolutely  essential,  and  in  all  vast  com 
plicated  organizations,  some  chicanery  will  creep  in.  But 
take  them  all  in  all,  American  politics  are  not  half  as 
bad  as  they  are  painted,  not  half  as  bad  as  they  are 
painted." 

"Well,  that  is  a  relief.  You  certainly  should  know. 
But  what  of  the  great  corporations  that  rule  this  State — 
as  well  as  the  country  ?  The  State  Democratic  or  Republi 
can  Boss  is  president  or  treasurer  of  one  of  them,  is  he  not  ? 
I  haven't  taken  the  trouble  to  be  very  specific  as  yet.  My 
time  is  so  far  off.  Of  course  I  do  not  need  to  be  told  that 
organizations,  trusts,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  them,  are 
inevitable — because  they  are  in  the  line  of  progress;  and 
unabused,  they  would  be  as  much  to  the  advancement  of 
the  individual  as  of  the  country.  But  they  have  been 
abused,  from  all  I  can  make  out — quite  shockingly.  I  am 
taking  the  course  on  'The  Law  of  Corporations'  at  the 
University,  partly  because  I  want  to  understand  so  vital  a 
question  as  thoroughly  as  possible — and  partly — well — at 
least,  I  fancied  I  should — for  a  time — for  what  money  there 
might  be  in  it —  But  really!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that  some  trusts  are  not  reprehensible, 
and  the  sooner  they  are  exposed  the  better.  But  they  are 
sensational  cases.  The  majority  of  the  great  complex  ag 
gregations  of  capital  are  monuments  to  American  genius 
and  progress;  I  am  sure  that  if  you  waste  any  time  on  the 
yellow  press  you  know  how  to  discount  it.  Some  of  even 
the  best  of  the  trusts  may  have  swollen  to  a  size  that  renders 

572 


ANCESTORS 

them  practically  unmanageable,  as  well  as  injudiciously 
provocative  of  much  jealousy  and  unrest.  But  the  princi 
ple  is  sound,  as  you  have  admitted,  and  the  great  law  of 
adjustment  will  correct  all  that  is  undesirable,  and  in  a  very 
few  years.  Meanwhile,  get  rich  yourself,  Mr.  Gwynne. 
I'm  delighted  to  learn  that  corporation  law  has  appealed 
to  you  so  strongly,  for  the  money  is  there.  I'm  glad 
I  came.  I'd  like  to  do  one  of  your  blood  a  good  turn, 
to  say  nothing  of  yourself.  Perfect  yourself  in  corporation 
law — and  Leslie  says  you  accumulate  more  rapidly  than 
any  hundred  ordinarily  well-equipped  men  one  might 
name — and  I  can  put  you  in  the  way  of  clearing  a  hundred 
thousand  a  year." 

"  Could  you  ?" 

:'  Yes,  sir.  What  the  great  corporations  want,  and  want 
badly,  even  with  all  the  good  legal  talent  they've  got,  is  an 
attorney  of  extraordinary  abilities,  and  these  you  have.  I 
understand  that  the  legal  luminary  of  that  reform  set  in 
San  Francisco  has  offered  to  take  you  into  his  office. 
That's  about  as  great  a  compliment  as  even  you  could 
have,  but  there's  nothing  in  it.  They're  playing  a  losing 
game.  They  ought  to  win,  but  they  won't.  The  San 
Francisco  Boss  may  be  what  we  elegantly  term  a  shyster 
lawyer,  but  there  never  was  as  clever  a  one;  and  there's 
no  trick  he  doesn't  know.  He'll  beat  them  at  every  turn. 
You'd  only  make  one  more  of  that  estimable  Don  Quixote 
band.  Don't  waste  your  youth.  Study  corporation  law 
with  all  your  might  and  main,  and  /'//  place  you  where 
you'll  make  a  big  income  from  the  start — and  it  '11  grow 
bigger  every  year.  Then  when  your  turn  comes  to  vote 
and  run  for  office — why,  the  whole  field  will  be  open  to  you 
to  pick  and  choose  from.  Corporations  are  not  ungrate- 

573 


A       N       C       E    _5 7^      0     _.R_    _S 

ful,  and  with  a  mighty  one  behind  you,  I  guess  you  wouldn't 
whistle  for  anything,  long." 

Gwynne  regarded  the  thin  sole  of  his  house  shoe  with  so 
rueful  a  countenance  that  the  judge  laughed  outright. 
"Have  you  really  had  thoughts  of  working  up  a  reform 
party  ?"  he  cried,  the  dancing  imps  in  his  eyes  almost 
escaping. 

"Well,  I  may  have  dreamed  a  bit  that  way.  You  see, 
I  come  of  a  family  of  reformers."  And  he  gave  the  judge 
a  rapid  sketch  of  the  part  his  English  forefathers  had  played 
in  the  great  reform  acts  of  their  country.  The  judge 
nodded  sympathetically. 

"Just  so.  I  understand  your  point  of  view  perfectly. 
Perfectly.  But  those  great  movements  in  England  are 
matched  here  by  spasms  only.  This  country  is  too  big  and 
too  heterogeneous.  Don't  set  yourself  between  two  cast- 
iron  walls,  Mr.  Gwynne,  because  when  they  do  get  a 
concerted  move  on,  they  fly  like  hell.  Join  either  of  the 
parties,  and  you  will  find  not  only  that  it  is  not  half  as  bad 
as  it  is  painted,  but  that  it  accomplishes  far  more  good 
than  harm,  many  real  reforms,  that  are  systematically 
ignored  by  the  press." 

"I  thought  you  said  that  reforms  were  impossible  in 
this  country." 

"Oh,  bless  my  soul,  no.  That  would  mean  that  we 
were  going  straight  to  the  dogs.  Reforms  are  going  on 
every  minute.  The  country  is  more  tolerable  and  civilized 
every  decade.  What  I  mean  is  that  no  reform  can  be  ac 
complished  until  the  time  is  ripe  for  it.  That  is  the  reason 
why  our  spasms  amount  to  nothing.  They  are  always 
premature.  But  if  you  really  want  to  do  this  country  a 
service  throw  in  your  lot  with  the  regulars.  You  would 

574 


ANCESTORS 

always  be  an  influence  for  good,  and  when  you  saw  the 
first  opening  for  the  correction  of  some  crying  abuse,  you 
would  have  powerful  machinery  at  hand  to  work  with. 
What  you  want  to  do,  Mr.  Gwynne,  is  to  become  a  power 
ful  factor  in  the  machine,  not  waste  your  time  on  wind 
mills." 

"Which  machine?"  asked  Gwynne,  ingenuously.  "I 
don't  fancy  I  could  ever  make  up  my  mind.  They  seem 
precisely  alike  to  me." 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  slowly,  although  he  brushed  the 
tip  of  his  nose  aside  with  more  violence  than  usual.  "I 
don't  like  advising,  particularly  a  young  man  of  your  dis 
tinguished  abilities  and  achievements.  But  I  really  think 
I  am  better  able  to  advise  you  than  Leslie,  and  certainly 
every  man  of  us  should  feel  a  sense  of  responsibility  to  the 
old  Otis — and  Adams! — blood.  I  will  say  frankly  that  in 
your  place  I  should  join  the  party  that  owns  this  State — 
and  shows  no  signs  of  letting  go;  in  other  words,  the  Re 
publican.  I  can  well  understand,  that  having  been  a 
Liberal — and  to  the  extent  of  renouncing  your  titles! — the 
Democratic  would  appeal  to  you.  But  don't  waste  your 
time,  Mr.  Gwynne.  You  are  thirty-two.  You  don't  want 
to  throw  away  the  next  ten  years  on  a  losing  game,  and 
then,  tired  out,  arrive  nowhere.  You  would  fight  so  hard 
that  all  your  energies  would  be  second-rate  by  that  time. 
You  want  to  begin  right  now  and  swim  with  the  tide. 
Nurse  your  great  energies  for  the  exactions  of  the  victori 
ous  career.  You'll  need  them.  And  need  them  fresh." 

"That  sounds  like  good  advice,  but  the  whole  political 
game  appals  me  when  I  consider  that  it  will  be  six  years 
before  I  can  even  run  for  the  House  of  Representatives — 

"True!     True!     Pity    your    parents    didn't    lose    you 
575 


ANCESTORS 

But  everything  turns  out  for  the  best.  Meanwhile,  you 
can  make  name  and  fortune  as  a  corporation  lawyer. 
And  you  can't  have  too  much  money  in  this  world,  sir. 
You  can't  have  too  much  money  in  this  world." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Gwynne's  tongue  to  ask  him  bluntly 
what  corporation  he  had  in  mind,  but  not  only  did  his 
already  boiling  humor  recoil  from  the  indignity  of  a  de 
liberately  worded  bribe,  but  he  doubted  if  it  would  be 
proffered  so  early  in  the  game.  He  had  a  very  clever 
man  to  deal  with;  it  was  not  likely  he  would  make  the  mis 
take  of  a  direct  approach.  Gwynne  flattered  himself  that 
he  looked  as  ingenuous  as  Tom  Colton,  but  as  he  had  seen 
through  the  complacent  judge,  it  was  possible  that  the 
judge  might  entertain  suspicions  of  a  man  with  his 
reputation.  He  was  glad  he  had  not  spoken  when  his 
visitor  rose  abruptly  to  his  feet. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  shall  miss  my  train 
if  I  don't  hurry.  And  heaven  forbid  that  I  spend  another 
night  in  this  mud-hole.  My  address  is  on  my  card — when 
do  you  come  down  again  ?" 

"There  is  a  lecture  at  Berkeley  on  Wednesday — 

"Good!  Now,  you  will  dine  with  me  next  Wednesday  , 
night — and  I  hope  on  many  other  nights.  We  must  have 
several  long  talks — and  all  about  your  future,  young  man. 
I  am  too  old  to  talk  about  my  own,  but  I  remember  what 
I  was  at  your  age.  Tactful,  hey  ?  But  no,"  dropping  his 
voice  gravely.  "I  want  to  help  you.  And  I  can.  What 
ever  branch  of  the  law  you  specialize  upon,  you  must  leave 
Rosewater  and  come  to  San  Francisco.  I  can  place  you 
in  an  office — even  should  you  decide  upon  general  practice 
— that  will  carry  you  swifter  and  further  than  our  reform 
friend  can?  because  he  is  playing  a  losing  game — a  losing 

576 


ANCESTORS 

game,   sir.     But    we'll    talk    of   all   that    later.       I    must 
hasten." 

Gwynne  escorted  him  to  the  head  of  the  staircase,  where 
he  resisted  an  impulse  to  kick  him  down,  then,  after  a 
hasty  glance  into  the  dictionary,  encased  himself  in  rubber 
and  went  up  the  hill  to  the  home  of  Judge  Leslie.  He  was 
to  dine  there,  and  it  was  but  a  quarter-past  four,  but  what 
he  had  to  say  and  ask  would  not  keep  for  an  hour  and 
three-quarters. 


IV 


ON  his  way  to  the  house  he  decided  that  he  could  not 
confide  even  to  Judge  Leslie  that  he  had  been  singled 
out  as  likely  spoil  by  the  "grafters."  No  doubt  that  in  a 
way  it  was  a  compliment  to  his  abilities,  this  early-con 
ceived  determination  to  whisk  him  out  of  the  reform  field 
and  engross  his  abilities,  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone. 
Probably  he  would  be  approached  in  a  similar  manner  very 
often,  until  he  became  a  definite  quantity,  and  in  time 
would  grow  accustomed  to  it;  and  callous.  But  at  present 
he  was  hot  and  sickened,  the  more  so  as  he  felt  that  he 
had  received  a  new  impulse  to  believe  in  himself.  These 
vast  corporations — the  railroad,  street  railways,  lighting, 
and  telephone  companies,  were  the  ones  that  dictated  to 
San  Francisco,  and  were  supposed  to  have  debauched  the 
Board  of  Supervisors,  all  of  them  small  laborers,  elevated 
by  the  Boss  to  serve  his  ends — counted  their  capital  by  the 
millions;  in  one  case,  at  least,  by  the  hundred  million. 
They  had  already  bought  much  of  the  best  talent  in  the 
country,  and  they  wasted  no  time  on  the  second-rate. 
Gwynne  could  easily  guess  in  whose  teeming  and  orderly 
brain  the  scheme  to  seduce  and  attach  himself  had  been 
shaped,  and,  with  the  American  contempt  for  the  per 
spicacity  of  any  foreigner,  had  selected  this  judge,  with  his 
breezy  direct  tactful  manner,  as  certain  to  edge  the  new 
comer  into  the  fold.  To  Gwynne  the  only  saving  grace 

578 


ANCESTORS 

in  the  whole  interview  was  that  he  had  not  been  tempted. 
Had  he  been  he  should  have  felt  utterly  demoralized,  dis 
posed  to  take  himself  at  the  valuation  of  the  business-like 
unsentimental  brains  in  power. 

He  found  his  judge  awakening  from  a  nap  before  his 
library  fire  and  dusting  the  crumbs  from  his  beard. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  the  old  gentleman 
began,  then  stopped  short.  "What  is  the  matter?"  he 
asked,  anxiously.  "Sit  down." 

"What  does  indigenate  mean?" 

"Why — a  purely  technical  term  for  citizenship." 

"A  friend  of  yours  called  upon  me  to-day,  on  the 
strength  of  having  known  the  Otises,  and  remarked  that 
it  was  a  pity  I  was  ever  discharged  from  my  American 
indigenate." 

"That  you  renounced  American  citizenship  upon  com 
ing  of  age.  It  is  a  pity." 

"  But  I  remember  doing  no  such  thing.  I  did  no  such 
thing.  I  certainly  should  remember  it." 

"You  mean  that  you  made  no  formal  act  of  renunciation 
of  your  American  birthright,  obtained  no  certificate  of 
British  nationality  ?" 

"I  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  is  possible  that  my 
father  did  it  for  me — 

"Your  father  could  do  nothing."  Judge  Leslie  was 
staring  at  him.  Suddenly  he  laughed.  "You  are  British! 
I  am  almost  inclined  to  believe  you  hopeless.  How  did 
I  get  the  impression  that  you  had  formally  expatriated 
yourself?  From  Isabel,  who,  no  doubt,  woman-like, 
jumped  at  the  conclusion — having  known  you  when  you 
were  more  British  still.  And  you  never  brought  up  the 
subject — 

579 


ANCESTOR       S 

"Don't  regard  me  as  wholly  an  idiot.  I  read  the  Con 
stitution  of  the  United  States  half  a  dozen  times  while 
making  up  my  mind  to  come  here,  and  it  is  not  likely  that 
Article  XIV. — 'All  persons  born  in  the  United  States,  etc., 
are  citizens  of  the  United  States,  etc. ' — escaped  me.  I  con 
sulted  my  solicitor,  and  he  read  me  from  some  chapter  on 
Expatriation,  as  plainly  as  may  be,  that  the  forfeiture  of 
native  citizenship  was  accomplished  not  only  by  a  for 
mal  act  of  renunciation,  but  followed  a  long  severance 
with  the  relations  of  the  government  under  which  the  per 
son  was  born,  or — acceptance  of  service  under  a  foreign 
government.  Considering  that  I  had  left  the  United 
States  when  I  was  five  weeks  old,  and  had  fought  and  bled 
for  Great  Britain,  besides  serving  in  her  Parliament — • 
where,  of  course  I  took  my  oath  of  allegiance — and  that  I 
had  been  an  Englishman  to  every  possible  intent  and  pur 
pose,  even  wearing  my  titles  for  some  weeks,  it  seemed  to 
me — and  to  my  solicitor — that  I  would  have  rather  a  hard 
time  obtaining  an  American  passport." 

The  judge  nodded.  "Quite  right.  All  the  same,  I 
can't  understand  why  your  father  did  not  bring  the  ques 
tion  up  when  you  attained  your  majority,  or  why  you,  an 
ardent  Britisher,  did  not  think  of  it  yourself." 

"You  would  understand  if  you  lived  among  us  for  a  few 
years.  In  the  first  place  my  being  born  in  the  United 
States  was  such  a  mere  incident  that  it  was  rarely  men 
tioned,  and  then  in  the  most  casual  manner.  I  don't 
suppose  my  mother  ever  volunteered  a  piece  of  information 
in  her  life,  and  my  father  rarely  gave  a  thought  to  any 
matter  but  sport.  My  grandfather  probably  disliked  the 
idea — he  detested  America — at  all  events  he  never  alluded 
to  the  subject,  and  was  far  too  British  to  dream  that  the 


ANCESTORS 

child  of  British  parents  could  be  other  than  British  were 
he  born  in  heaven  itself.  I  don't  think  the  matter  had 
entered  rny  mind  for  ten  years,  when  the  subject  came  up 
the  first  night  of  Isabel's  visit  to  Capheaton — and  I  stupe 
fied  every  one  by  announcing  that  I  had  been  born  in 
America;  but  otherwise  it  made  no  impression  upon  them. 
It  is  quite  possible  that  had  there  been  any  prospect  of  my 
becoming  the  heir,  when  I  reached  my  majority,  some 
member  of  the  family  would  have  recalled  the  fact  of  my 
birthplace;  but  Zeal  was  well  then,  his  wife  was  bearing 
children  rapidly,  there  was  every  reason  to  suppose  she 
would  have  half  a  dozen  boys.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I 
have  never  been  an  Englishman  ?" 

"Oh,  you  are  all  right  as  far  as  the  British  law  goes. 
And  you  were  a  good  and  bona  fide  British  subject 
for  thirty  years.  Don't  feel  any  discouragement  on  that 
score." 

"Then  am  I  an  American  citizen?  Is  there  to  be  no 
long  period  of  waiting  and  of  comparative  inaction  ?" 

"  I  am  not  so  sure.  There  is  no  provision  of  the  Con 
stitution  so  open  to  various  construction.  And  none  has 
been  so  variously  construed.  I  could  cite  a  hundred  in 
stances — that  is,  I  could  read  them  to  you  to-morrow. 
But  I  recall  two,  and  they  are  fair  samples.  One  child, 
born  in  the  United  States,  of  French  parents,  returned  to 
France,  and  after  serving  his  term  in  the  French  army 
wished  to  become  an  American  citizen,  and  obtained  his 
passport  without  difficulty.  A  full-grown  American  citi 
zen  went  to  Mexico  and  fought  for  Maximilian,  and  lost 
not  only  his  own  citizenship,  but  that  of  his  children,  who 
had  been  born  in  the  United  States.  There  you  are,  and 
there  you  are  again,  as  dear  old  Dickens  would  say. 

58' 


^ N_  jC__E__S T_     O       R      S 

But  I  must  think  a  minute."     He  transferred  his  gaze  to 
the  coals,  and  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"There  is  a  pretty  strong  case  on  both  sides,"  he  re 
sumed,  in  a  musing  tone.  "You  left  this  country  when  an 
infant,  you  practically  forgot  it,  you  entered  the  service 
of  Great  Britain  heart  and  soul,  and  achieved  high  dis 
tinction.  You  inherited  a  title  and  wore  it  as  a  matter  of 
course.  For  thirty  years  you  never  set  foot  on  American 
soil,  nor  at  any  time  demanded  the  protection  of  the  United 
States,  as  you  might  easily  have  done  in  your  foreign 
wanderings.  There  is  hardly  a  doubt  that  if  England  had 
gone  to  war  with  us  at  any  time  during  the  last  ten  years 
and  needed  your  services  you  would  have  given  them. 
However,  that  contingency  did  not  arise,  so  let  it  pass. 
But  with  an  unsympathetic  State  Department  and  an 
active  enemy  or  two,  all  the  other  points  cited  would  make 
up  as  clear  a  case  of  voluntary  expatriation  as  any  on 
record.  But  there  is  a  pretty  good  balance  on  the  other 
side.  You  were  born  in  the  United  States,  you  did  not 
renounce  at  any  time  your  allegiance,  you  have  the  blood 
of  two  Presidents  in  your  veins,  and — here  is  the  important 
point:  you  have  been  one  of  the  heaviest  tax-payers  in 
California  for  thirty-two  years.  Now,  as  I  have  intimated, 
these  expatriation  cases  have  all  been  decided  on  their 
individual  merits.  I  should  advise  you  to  go  at  once  to 
Washington,  and  enlist  the  influence  of  the  British  Am 
bassador  to  get  you  personal  and  private  interviews  with 
the  powers  that  be.  Then  plead  your  own  case.  One 
of  two  things  will  happen.  Either  there  will  be  much 
hemming  and  hawing,  and  much  virtuous  and  judicial 
weighing  of  your  peculiar  case,  article  by  article,  or  the 
President  himself  will  decide  one  way  or  another  off-hand 

582 


ANCESTORS 

— he  being  what  he  is.  For  that  reason  I  think  it  would 
be  well  to  approach  him  by  degrees,  let  him  digest  it  a  bit. 
He  may  be  delighted  that  you  have  thrown  over  your 
titles  and  your  brilliant  and  promising  career  to  become 
an  American  citizen,  invite  you  to  take  the  oath  of  alle 
giance  forthwith,  and  order  the  State  Department  to  issue 
a  passport.  On  the  other  hand  he  may  fly  ofFat  a  tangent 
and  be  righteously  indignant  that  a  man  with  the  blood  of 
the  Otises  and  Adamses  in  him,  who  had  the  good-fortune 
to  be  born  on  American  soil,  hesitated  a  moment  after 
reaching  man's  estate — more  particularly  that  he  never 
gave  the  matter  a  thought.  Nothing  could  be  more 
problematical.  I  wouldn't  bet  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece 
either  way.  But,  I  repeat,  you  must  go  yourself.  Other 
wise  the  affair  would  hang  on  interminably.  Moreover, 
you  must  tell  no  one  the  object  of  your  journey.  Tom 
Colton  would  pull  every  wire  within  his  reach,  and  he  is 
no  mean  rival,  to  postpone  your  admission  to  citizenship, 
and  so,  I  fancy,  would  others." 

He  shot  a  keen  glance  at  Gwynne.  "I  think  I  know 
who  your  visitor  was,  to-day,  and  what  he  came  to 
Rosewater  for.  That  speech  of  yours,  and  its  effect  on 
the  crowd,  never  escaped  the  attention  of  the  party 
bosses,  and  of  course  you  are  a  marked  man  in  this 
small  community — to  say  nothing  of  your  intimacy  with 
the  reform  set  in  town.  The  judge,  who  started  some 
where  in  this  neighborhood  as  a  poor  boy,  rose  from 
various  minor  situations  to  be  the  secretary  of  Colton's 
bank,  saved  his  dimes  and  studied  law.  So  far  so 
good;  the  average  self-made  American.  The  law  leads 
a  good  many  of  us  into  politics  and  it  wasn't  long  lead 
ing  him.  He  was  an  invaluable  party  man,  with  that 

583 


ANCESTORS 

bluff  honest  exterior,  that  superabundant  magnetism, 
and  that  twinkling  eye.  The  world  always  associates  a 
fine  upright  nature  with  a  twinkling  eye.  I  have  one 
myself  and  I  believe  that  is  the  main  reason  why  I  have 
always  been  afraid  to  do  wrong.  Well,  our  friend  got  the 
bench  when  he  wanted  it,  and  he  has  been  a  mighty  good 
friend  to  the  corporation  that  put  him  there.  And  it  has 
done  well  by  him.  He  owns  a  fine  house  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  entertains,  goes  into  the  best  society,  has  visited 
Europe  several  times,  and,  although  he  is  now  rising 
sixty,  continues  to  fool  all  but  a  few.  He  might  climb 
higher  and  become  a  United  States  Senator,  but  the  cor 
poration  finds  him  too  useful  here.  He  rather  resents 
that,  but  they  make  the  sacrifice  worth  his  while.  I  can 
well  conceive  they  have  spotted  you,  and  you  may  be  sure 
there  is  little  about  you  they  don't  know.  Of  course  they 
have  made  up  their  minds  you  are  erratic,  and  have  not 
the  least  doubt  that  they  can  manipulate  that  loose  screw. 
They  have  bought  thousands,  these  - 

(it  was  not  often  the  judge  swore,  but  when  he  did  he  took 
some  time)  Grafters,  that  are  debauching  the  country  and 
will  soon  make  it  impossible  for  an  honest  man  to  live;  and 
although  they  will  no  doubt  have  the  grace  to  approach 
you  with  less  brutal  directness  than  commonly,  I  knew 
that  was  what  they  were  after  the  moment  that  old  rascal 
began  to  talk  to  me  this  morning.  He  never  fooled  me. 
Well,  we'll  fool  him.  You  go  to  Washington  and  get 
your  passport,  and  if  you  can't  hasten  matters  don't  let 
an  outsider  know  what  you  are  after.  Plunge  into  so 
ciety  and  let  them  think  you  need  a  change  from  Cali 
fornia.  Of  course  you  will  give  your  real  name.  Cat's 

584 


A       N      C       E_    S       T_  _O R       S 

out,  anyhow.  Perhaps  they  will  think  you  are  on  your 
way  home  to  England.  Flirt  with  the  girls  and  be  a 
frivolous  young  blood.  The  judge  asked  you  to  dinner, 
I  suppose  ?  I  thought  so.  You  would  meet  more  than 
the  judge;  if  not  the  first  time,  then  the  second  and  third. 
Write  him  a  note,  telling  him  you  are  obliged  to  go  south 
to  take  a  look  at  your  mother's  ranch.  Then  obey  a 
sudden  impulse  and  go  East  by  the  southern  route.  In 
Washington  be  seen  as  much  with  your  ambassador  as 
possible.  I  don't  think  these  rascals  will  suspect,  for  they 
take  for  granted  that  you  were  duly  '  discharged  from 
your  American  indigenate' — I  can  hear  him!  If  they  did 
there  would  be  the  devil  to  pay,  but  I  don't  think  they 
will.  However,  don't  waste  any  time." 

Gwynne  was  staring  at  the  fire,  his  inner  being  chaos, 
but  he  replied  in  a  moment  that  he  would  start  for  Wash 
ington  on  the  following  day. 


INHERE  had  been  no  stormier  night  during  the  winter. 

1  Isabel's  old  house  creaked  and  rattled  and  groaned 
like  a  ship  in  a  whole  gale,  and  the  wind  sent  great  waves 
of  rain  along  the  veranda.  A  northern  window  had  been 
blown  in  and  hastily  patched.  Although  but  nine  o'clock 
the  sky  was  as  black  as  midnight.  For  several  days  there 
had  been  merely  a  quiet  steady  fall,  but  during  the  after 
noon  the  northern  rain  belt  had  sent  down  another  great 
storm  and  it  had  been  rising  ever  since. 

Isabel,  unable  to  go  out,  had  washed  her  hair,  and  was 
still  sitting  on  the  hearth-rug,  drying  it,  when  she  heard  a 
shout  outside,  then  the  slam  of  a  door  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  and  voices  in  the  kitchen.  She  was  too  warm  and 
comfortable  to  be  interested.  If  it  were  a  tramp  he  was 
welcome  to  the  shelter  of  the  house;  if  a  burglar  there  were 
two  men  to  dispose  of  him,  and  her  jewels  were  in  a  safe- 
deposit  box  in  San  Francisco.  She  loved  a  storm  and 
had  given  herself  up  to  one  of  those  moods  of  pure  de 
light  in  the  present  moment,  although  she  had  been  in 
anything  but  a  good-humor  of  late,  and  solitude  had  palled. 
But  a  raging  storm,  the  sense  of  the  absolute  dominance 
of  nature  and  the  littleness  of  man,  always  exalted  her. 
She  knew  that  the  old  house  was  secure  on  its  foundations, 
and,  but  that  she  loved  comfort  and  warmth,  she  would 
have  liked  to  be  out  on  the  marsh  in  a  boat;  tense  with 


A_      N       C       E       S__T_     O       R       S 

the  difficulties  of  keeping  the  channel  and  avoiding  the 
shoals  and  mud-banks  obliterated  by  the  risen  waters. 
It  amused  her  to  imagine  herself  out  there,  while  dwell 
ing  pleasurably,  in  a  doubled  consciousness,  upon  the 
warm  red  tints  of  her  room.  Her  dreams  were  barely  dis 
turbed  by  the  unknown  interloper,  but  they  were  shattered 
a  moment  later  by  Gwynne'b  voice  and  rapid  step  in  the 
hall. 

She  had  intended  to  greet  him  with  a  cool  hauteur 
after  his  neglect  of  nearly  a  month,  but  she  could  not  rise 
in  time;  and,  enveloped  in  a  mass  of  hair,  spread  over  a 
yard  of  the  floor,  it  was  impossible  to  be  dignified.  So 
she  resolved  to  be  charming. 

"I  had  to  come  in  the  back  way  like  a  tramp  and  leave 
my  oil-skins  in  the  kitchen,"  he  announced,  abruptly,  as 
he  entered.  "Don't  get  up.  I  have  always  wanted  to 
see  your  hair  down.  So  did  Jimmy,  I  remember.  Did 
he?" 

"Certainly  not.  Neither  would  you  if  you  had  not 
chosen  such  an  extraordinary  time  to  call.  I  am  de 
lighted  to  see  you  once  more  after  all  these  years,  but- — 
what  on  earth  possessed  you  ?"  His  eyes  were  glitter 
ing,  although  he  had  dropped  his  lids,  and  he  did  not 
sit  down,  but  moved  restlessly  about  the  room. 

"Your  mother  is  much  better,"  said  Isabel,  tentatively. 

"Oh  yes,  and  she  is  looking  forward  to  her  motor  trip, 
and  telephoned  this  morning  that  her  room  was  a  mass 
of  flowers.  I  fancy  she  is  a  bit  touched  by  so  much 
kindness,  for  she  has  not  been  half  decent  to  any  one  but 
the  Trennahans." 

"Does  she  say  anything  about  returning  to  England! 
She  had  it  in  mind — just  after  the  earthquake." 

587 


ANCESTORS 

"She  has  made  one  or  two  casual  allusions  to  her  return, 
but  she  never  plans  far  ahead — does  what  takes  her 
fancy  at  the  moment.  But  this  life  will  never  suit  her. 
I  imagine  she  will  go  before  long.  London  is  in  her 
blood.  Now  that  she  can  live  properly — will  have  all 
she  can,  or  ought  to  want,  when  the  building  is  paying, 
there  is  no  object  in  her  remaining  here." 

"How  goes  the  building?" 

"How  can  anything  go  in  this  infernal  weather?  The 
old  shanties  are  down,  and  the  contractor  had  a  sort  of 
tent  erected  and  has  done  some  work  on  the  founda 
tions.  I  should  have  come  directly  to  California  if  I 
had  had  any  idea  of  the  money  to  be  made  by  selling  off 
my  superfluous  land  and  putting  up  that  building.  It 
might  be  finished,  by  this  time.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  ?" 

"I  am  only  remodelling  my  own  brain  on  business 
lines  by  slow  degrees,  and  no  echo  of  this  building  fever 
reached  me  in  Europe.  You  will  remember  that  I  did 
write,  while  you  were  wandering  about  America,  that 
Mr.  Colton  suggested  it  for  both  of  us.  If  I  did  not 
dwell  on  the  subject  it  was  because  I  had  a  feminine 
horror  of  the  mortgage  —  and  no  idea  that  you  were  so 
keen  on  making  money." 

"I  am  thinking  principally  of  my  mother.  When  a 
woman  has  always  had  the  world  I  doubt  if  she  can  live 
long  out  of  it.  San  Francisco  is  all  very  well  for  the 
young  and  adventurous,  and  for  those  with  a  strong  sense 
of  the  picturesque,  but  I  can  imagine  that  to  a  woman 

of  her  age  and  experience Do  you  know — "  he  burst 

out.  "I  don't  know  where  I  am.  What  an  extraordinary 
thing  heredity  is!  I  doubt  if  most  people,  although  they 

588 


A       N       C      E       S       T       0     _R 5 

would  call  that  a  platitude,  realize  that  heredity  is  any 
thing  more  than  a  telling  word.  There  are  times  when 
I  am  sitting  at  my  stove,  surrounded  by  all  those  typi 
cal  American  men,  who  seldom  mention  a  subject  but 
politics  and  farming — for  I  tabu  chickens — or  the  in 
tensely  local  interests,  more  or  less  affected  by  politics, — 
there  are  times  when  I  actually  feel  the  nameless  ambi 
tious  young  fellow — not  born  in  a  log-cabin,  perhaps,  but 
next  door  to  it — and  endowed  with  that  keen  compact 
pioneer  determination  to  stride  straight  to  my  goal, 
whether  it  is  the  White  House  or — well — the  Presidency 
of  a  Trust  Company.  I  forget — good  God! — Are  those 
years  behind  me  in  England?  I  have  caught  myself 
wishing  that  I  had  kept  a  scrap-book  like  other  idiots. 
It  escapes  my  memory  altogether  at  times,  that  I  have 
but  to  take  a  steamer  out  of  New  York  to  reach  the  top 
of  civilization  again  in  less  than  a  week." 

"Perhaps  it  suggests  itself  when  you  remember  that 
with  the  income  you  can  command  before  long,  life  in 
England  will  be  more  worth  while." 

"That  wras  as  nasty  a  one  as  you  ever  gave  me!  No 
one  knows  better  than  yourself  wThat  brought  me  to 
America,  and  that  those  conditions  cannot  be  altered 
by  money.  Could  I  not  have  had  Julia  Kaye's  fortune  ? 
You  need  not  be  nasty  again!  You  forget  that  not  only 
was  I  in  love  with  her — or  thought  I  was — but  could 

O 

have  given  her  the  equivalent.  She  would  be  the  last 
to  claim  that  she  was  to  pay  too  high  a  price,  even  with 
me  thrown  in.  If  you  don't  beg  my  pardon  I'll  leave  the 
house." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Isabel,  hastily.  She  was 
thrilled  with  curiosity;  she  had  never  seen  him  so  nearly 

589 


A       N      C E__S 7^     O       R       , 

excited,  with  the  exception  of  one  memorable  and  pair 
ful  moment.  She  fancied  that  she  could  see  one  of  tri 
barriers  between  them  sway. 

"It  may  be  that  this  sudden  prospect  of  wealth,  c 
rather  of  a  goodish  income  that  would  enable  me  to  kee 
up  a  decent  establishment  in  town,  and  a  bit  of  a  plac 
somewhere  in  the  hunting  country,  has  upset  my  equilit 
rium,  but  it  occurred  to  me  this  morning  as  I  was  splasF 
ing  through  the  mud — I  had  to  go  out  to  the  ranch — in  fa( 
it  came  over  me  with  such  a  rush  that  I  felt  like  Do 
Quixote,  and  every  landmark  looked  like  a  windmill- 
what  is  England  to-day  but  the  very  apex  of  civilize 
tion  ?  The  Mecca,  the  reward,  of  every  man  and  worr 
an  with  the  breeding  and  the  intelligence  to  appreciat 
it  ?  The  best  of  everything  goes  there,  you  have  but  t 
turn  round  to  help  yourself  to  an  infinite  variety — to  b 
found  piecemeal  everywhere  else  on  earth.  And  th 
very  best  is  mine,  by  inheritance  and  personal  efFor 
Why  in  thunder  am  I  out  here  on  this  ragged  edge  c 
civilization  struggling  with  almost  primitive  conditions 
— elemental  badness,  sure  enough!  What  is  my  object 
Merely  to  bring  about  a  set  of  conditions  that  exists  i 
England  to-day.  I  have  them  there.  Why  am  I  wadin 
into  filth  up  to  my  knees,  for  the  sake  of  an  alien  race 
when  they  are  mine  already  ?" 

"  But  you  had  too  full  a  measure.  That  was  the  rea 
son  you  emptied  the  cup  and  turned  your  back.  Yo 
wanted  hard  work — to  use  your  gifts." 

"What  does  it  all  amount  to?  Suppose  I  insidious! 
work  up  a  reform  movement  in  this  State,  and  am  she 
into  Congress  over  the  head  of  the  machine  ?  Suppos 
my  gifts  are  as  extraordinary  as  I  have  been  led  to  sup 

590 


ANCESTOR     _S 

pose  —  ordinarily  a  man  feels  damned  commonplace  — 
and  by  force  of  those  gifts  I  hold  my  own  against  the 
formidable  organizations  I  shall  encounter  there  at  every 
turn  ?  Suppose  this  reform  spirit  in  the  United  States 
grows  and  strengthens,  and  I  come  along  in  time  to 
benefit  by  it,  and  am  landed  in  Washington — even  in  the 
White  House  ?  What  of  it  ?  I  had  a  thousand  times 
rather  be  prime -minister  in  England  —  in  other  words 
the  real  head  of  eleven  million  square  miles  of  the  earth's 
surface,  dictator  to  a  good  part  of  the  world,  for  that 
matter.  Your  public  men  are  servants — or  ought  to  be, 
according  to  your  Constitution.  In  England  we  render 
service  by  courtesy,  and  rule  the  roast.  In  this  country 
every  man  in  public  life  is  not  only  at  the  mercy  of  his 
constituents,  but  in  daily  terror  of  having  his  head  cut 
off  by  the  man  above  him.  Even  the  President  has  to 
be  a  politician  above  all  things." 

"You  used  to  talk  in  England — as  if  you  were  not 
wholly  swayed  by  personal  ambition." 

"It  is  not  so  difficult  over  there  to  conceive  high  and 
mighty  ideals — fool  yourself,  if  you  like.  But  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  can  see  myself  baring  my  breast  for  poisoned 
arrows,  with  a  seraphic  smile  on  my  lips,  over  here!  It 
is  all  so  crude!  I  want  to  be  a  main  instrument  in  reform 
as  much  as  ever—  Oh  yes!  But  I  am  not  sure  that 
one  motive  is  not  to  make  the  life  and  the  game  more 
tolerable.  And  the  everlasting  machine!  There  won't 
be  a  day,  inside  or  out  of  it,  that  I  won't  run  up  against 
every  damnable  meanness  that  human  nature  is  capable 
of.  I  must  handle  these  men,  placate  them — or  get  out. 
History  has  not  yet  failed  to  repeat  itself.  If  I  succeed, 
in  favoring  conditions,  in  forming  a  new  party,  I  may 

59 i 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

end  as  a  boss  myself!  Exalted  ideal!  Inspiring  thought! 
Better  go  home  and  live  like  a  gentleman.  I  could  have 
some  sort  of  a  career,  and  I  have  seen  enough  in  this 
country  to  drive  me  towards  the  conclusion  that  there  are 
worse  things  in  life  than  curbing  one's  youthful  ambi 
tions  a  bit." 

He  was  still  striding  up  and  down  the  room,  his  ex 
pressive  hands  as  restless  as  his  feet.  The  color  was  in 
his  face  and  his  eyes  were  blazing.  There  was  a  curious 
magnetism  about  him  that  Isabel  had  never  been  sensi 
ble  of  before,  although  she  had  heard  much  of  it  in  Eng 
land.  It  was  as  if  his  spirit  were  fully  awake;  at  other 
times  he  appeared  to  live  with  his  cool  critical  brain  only, 
while  his  inner  self,  with  its  intense  slow  passions,  slept. 
She  wisely  made  no  comment,  and  after  shoving  the 
books  violently  about  the  table  he  went  on: 

"You  may  argue  that  if  public  men  were  elected  di 
rectly  by  the  people  and  the  President  held  office  for  one 
term  of  ten  or  fifteen  years  only,  that  a  long  stride  would 
be  made  towards  the  millennium.  But  it  is  doubtful  if 
even  then,  forty  or  fifty  different  tribes — for  that  is  what 
your  State  and  territory  lines  effect — could  be  managed 
without  machinery,  and  machinery  develops  the  lowest 
attributes  in  human  nature.  I  saw  enough  of  that  in 
the  few  rotten  boroughs  we  have  left  in  England,  but 
my  imagination  never  worked  towards  the  full  and 
original  development  in  this  country.  We  have  other 
faults;  the  serenest  optimist  would  never  deny  them; 
but,  faults  or  no  faults,  we  crown  civilization  to  -  day. 
The  richest  man  in  America  has  not  the  least  idea  what 
it  means  to  live  like  a  gentleman  in  our  sense.  And 
there  is  no  flaw  in  my  appreciation  of  your  country.  In 

592 


ANCESTORS 

many  respects  it  is  the  most  marvellous  the  world  has 
known — but — I  sometimes  wonder  if  the  pioneer  blood 
in  my  veins  is  red  enough  to  stand  it.  No  matter  what 
the  most  successful  reformers  accomplish,  there  will  be 
no  high  civilization  here  in  our  time — no  background. 
Unconsciously,  or  otherwise,  I  shall  always  have  the  goal 
of  England  in  my  mind — and  if  that  is  the  case,  why  am 
I  here  ?  Isn't  civilization  the  highest  that  man  is  ca 
pable  of  accomplishing,  the  best  that  Earth  has  to  offer 
any  of  us  ?  What  sense  is  there  in  going  back  to  the 
beginnings  and  plodding  or  fighting  towards  a  goal  you 
were  born  to  ?  It's  more  than  once  I've  felt  like  Don 
Quixote.  The  whole  infernal  country  is  a  windmill — 
and  a  large  percentage  of  its  inhabitants  are  windbags." 

"Of  course  you  have  a  streak  of  Don  Quixote  in  you. 
All  men  of  genius  have,  I  suppose.  You  felt  that  you 
had  a  mission — to  pack  a  great  deal  into  a  convenient 
phrase.  You  could  do  nothing  in  England  but  sit  down 
and  sup  with  the  elect.  You  would  have  choked  very 
quickly.  And  if  you  went  back  you  would  not  stay. 
You  would  not  only  be  bored,  but  you  know  now  how 
badly  this  country  needs  one  disinterested  man  of  genius." 

"I  am  not  disinterested.  I  never  felt  more  selfish  in 
my  life." 

"You  have  an  immense  capacity  for  disinterested  states 
manship.  Of  course  all  motives,  especially  with  the  high 
ly  gifted,  are  complex.  You  have  said  yourself  they 
would  be  fanatics  otherwise.  And  you  are  far  more 
American  than  you  know,  although  you  have  just  con 
fessed  that  you  do  know  it  well  enough  at  times.  All 
your  American  ancestors  may  be  living  again  in  you.  It 
was  your  own  instinct,  no  influence  of  mine,  that  sent 

593 


ANCESTORS 

you  out  here,  filled  with  mixed  but  high  ambitions.  No 
full-blooded  Englishman  would  ever  do  what  you  have 
done.  Insanity  and  inebriety  skip  a  generation.  Why 
not  Americanism  ?  Heaven  knows  there  is  nothing  Amer 
ican  about  your  mother.  And  when  the  political  clean 
up  comes,  as  it  is  bound  to — " 

"Oh,  I  am  sick  of  this  everlasting  optimism:  'Every 
thing  is  bound  to  come  out  all  right/  'God's  own  country/ 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I  can  understand  it  well  enough 
out  here,  though.  It  is  a  wonder  to  me  that  any  Cali- 
fornian  has  energy  enough  to  care.  Life  is  easy  at  the 
worst.  The  scoundrels  batten  unnoticed — although  they 
are  sending  up  the  price  of  everything;  and  the  most  un 
grateful  and  rapacious  labor  class  on  earth  never  get 
their  deserts.  The  labor  class  hasn't  a  leg  to  stand  on, 
so  far  as  bare  justice  goes.  Pity  they  can't  have  a  taste 
of  Eastern  factories  and  wages  and  climate  for  a  while, 
If  it  were  not  for  its  bay  and  the  tremendous  significance 
of  its  position  opposite  the  Orient,  California  would  be 
what  it  ought  to  be,  the  pleasure  gardens  of  the  world. 
No  politics,  no  labor-unions,  merely  a  succession  of  es 
tates,  big  and  little,  where  a  man  could  live  a  happy 
animal  existence  for  one-third  of  the  year,  after  working 
the  other  two-thirds — that  is  a  sane  division.  But  if  I 
stay  here  I  work.  And  for  what  ultimate  object  ?  Eng 
land,  as  sure  as  fate." 

"You  cannot  possibly  tell  how  you  will  feel  twenty 
years  hence — 

"Twenty  years!  That  is  a  fair  estimate,  no  doubt!  I 
believe  that  the  real  secret  of  discontent  has  been  the 
prospect  of  this  cursed  period  of  inaction.  Nice  substi 
tute — coruscating  as  a  blooming  barrister;  and  it's  mighty 

594 


difficult  to  travel  along  for  four  years  without  showing 
your  hand.  It  requires  a  tact  that  I  may  or  may  not 
have.  If  I  have  it,  there  may  be  other  depths  of  hideous 
guile,  as  yet  undiscovered.  I  have  had  glimpses  of  them 
already.  All  these  farmers  that  I  am  nursing  ?  What 
if  my  beneficent  virus  works  too  quickly — before  I  can 
represent  them?  Some  other  fellow  reaps  the  benefit; 
and  when  my  turn  comes,  likely  as  not  there  will  be  a 
reaction.  I've  to  keep  and  increase  my  hold  on  these 
men  of  every  nationality  under  the  sun,  as  well  as  upon 
the  seasoned  old  Americans,  lest  they  should  break  away 
from  me.  Nice  job  I've  cut  out."  He  hesitated  a  mo 
ment,  but  added:  "Beastly  idea  to  subject  all  to  the  same 
law.  It  should  be  ten  years  for  immigrants,  and  one  for 
the  man-of-the-world  anxious  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance 
— not  that  I  am  frantic  to  take  it." 

"I  never  knew  any  one  so  keen  for  obstacles;  and  now 
that  you  have  found  more  than  you  bargained  for — 

"  It's  not  the  obstacles  that  daunt  me.  If  I  were  only 
sure  of  accomplishing  any  result  worth  while,  if  I  had 
the  materials  to  work  on — if  I  were  sure  I  cared!  The 
American  is  an  unhatched  Englishman,  but  he  won't  be 
hatched  out  in  my  time 1  even  long  for  the  close  com 
pact  drama  of  English  life.  Everything  is  spread  over 
such  a  vast  loose  surface  here.  These  four  years  through 
which  I  may — must  stumble  along  with  my  hands  tied, 
are  a  fair  example.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  I  never  go 
to  bed  without  seeing  a  face  on  the  dark  trying  to  enun 
ciate:  'What  for?'  'Why?'" 

He  sat  down  suddenly  on  a  chair  in  front  of  her  and 
took  his  head  in  his  hands.  "Do  you  ever  ask  yourself 
those  questions  ?"  he  demanded,  abruptly. 

595 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

Isabel  nodded.  He  noted  absently  that  she  looked  like 
an  elf  with  her  face  half-hidden  by  her  hair,  and  that  he 
could  see  but  one  little  black  mole,  but  a  narrow  ring  of 
blue  about  the  dilated  pupils  of  her  eyes,  the  tiny  dimple 
at  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  She  wore  a  loose  blue  wrapper, 
and  the  wood  fire  leaped  in  high  flames  behind  her.  The 
storm  was  terrific.  He  suddenly  realized  that  this  was 
the  only  homelike  room  he  knew  outside  of  England.  He 
felt  as  if  nothing  would  ever  give  him  peace  again,  but  he 
was  suddenly  and  overwhelmingly  glad  to  be  there — and 
comfortably  alone  with  Isabel  on  this  raging  night.  He 
stared  at  her  until  his  own  pupils  dilated,  but  she  replied 
more  tranquilly  than  she  felt. 

"  Cui  bono  is  the  motto  on  Earth's  coat  of  arms.  The 
only  thing  that  saves  us  is  that  we  don't  see  it  all  the 
time.  There  are  long  intervals  in  which  we  eat  and  sleep 
and  dance  and  love  and  play  at  politics  and  enjoy  the 
storm — and  our  best  companions." 

"We  certainly  are  not  here  to  spend  our  lives  preparing 
for  another  world.  Otherwise  there  would  be  no  sense  in 
the  complexities  of  civilizations.  A  man  could  do  that 
much  in  a  cave.  It  is  merely  the  diabolism  of  instinct  that 
prompts  the  young  to  believe  that  the  race  is  all.  Cer 
tainly  love  is  not  the  only  source  of  happiness.  I  have  been 
ecstatically  happy  when  writing — thinking,  in  the  fever  of 
composition  that  I  was  dashing  out  the  finest  thing  in  lit 
erature.  I  have  been  happy  under  fire,  or  excited  enough 
to  think  so.  And  I  have  felt  enough  exultation  with  ex 
altation  to  make  happiness  when  I  have  been  on  a  plat 
form  and  carried  a  hostile  crowd  off  its  head  and  to  my 
feet.  If  two  people  were  indescribably  mated — I  don't 
know—" 

596 


^_  JV^_C E       S       T       O       R       S 

"Why  not  deliberately  accept  the  doctrine  that  there  is  a 
purpose,  even  if  you  are  not  permitted  to  read  the  riddle 
of  life—" 

"All  very  well,  but  what  have  politics  to  do  with  it? 
You  may  answer  that  a  man  should  lay  up  all  the  credits 
he  can,  and  that  he  can  possibly  get  more  by  cleaning  out 
the  political  trough  than  in  any  other  way.  If  those  are 
my  lines  I  suppose  I  shall  work  along  them,  but  my  higher 
faculties  whisper  that  to  live  this  life  on  the  intellectual 
plane,  fighting  for  your  country  when  necessary,  is  the 
rational  existence  for  those  that  have  the  luck  to  be  born 
to  the  good  things  of  the  old  civilizations.  Here  they  don't 
know  any  better,  or  if  they  do  they  can't  help  themselves. 
If  that  plane  isn't  meant  to  live  on,  why  is  it  there  ?  Has  a 
man  the  right  deliberately  to  step  off  the  high  plane  upon 
which  a  long  succession  of  circumstances  have  planted 
him — pull  up  his  roots  and  plant  them  in  a  virgin  soil  ?" 

"  Perhaps  it  is  his  duty  to  go  where  he  is  most  needed — 
where  his  riper  instincts  and  experience — 

"Your  arguments  are  always  good,  otherwise  I  should 
not  be  here  arguing  with  you.  What  do  you  really  think 
of  love  ?" 

She  jumped  with  the  suddeness  of  the  attack,  and  then 
drew  backward  a  little,  for  he  was  leaning  towards  her 
and  she  felt  his  masculine  magnetism  as  she  had  never 
done  before.  It  pulled  and  repelled  her,  fascinated  and 
filled  her  with  resentment.  And  she  was  fully  alive  to 
the  romantic  conditions,  the  wild  night,  the  isolation,  the 
vibrating  atmosphere.  But  she  replied,  soberly: 

"I  don't  think  about  it.     I  buried  all  that — 

"Chuck  it  on  the  dust-heap!  It  served  its  purpose: 
women  should  have  some  such  experience  in  their  first 

597 


ANCESTORS 

youth  as  men  have  others.  You  are  the  better  for  it, 
because  you  worked  off  on  the  poor  devil  all  the  morbid 
and  ultra-romantic  tendencies  that  were  spoiling  your  life. 
But  let  it  go  at  that.  It  was  no  more  love  than  my  first 
Byronic  madness  for  one  of  my  mother's  friends  when  I 
was  sixteen — " 

"You  were  thirty  when  you  were  in  love  with  Mrs. 
Kaye.  And  she  was  not  even  your  second — nor  your 
tenth,  no  doubt." 

"Quite  right.  I  do  not  understand  and  shall  waste  no 
time  on  the  effort.  All  men  run  pretty  much  the  same 
gamut.  That  attack  was  the  most  commonplace  sort 
of  passion,  no  madness  in  it,  no  idealization,  no  sense  of 
mating — 

"And  how,  may  I  ask,  do  you  expect  to  know  when  you 
really  do  fall  in  love — " 

"I'll  know,  all  right.  I  wish  you  would  put  up  your 
hair.  You  look  uncanny,  not  like  a  woman  at  all.  You 
have  too  many  sides.  I  like  you  when  you  are  human  and 
normal." 

"If  you  think  my  hair  in  its  proper  place  will  accomplish 
that  result — my  hair-pins  are  up-stairs  on  my  dressing- 
table—" 

He  disappeared  instantly.  When  he  returned  she  was 
standing  and  coiling  her  hair  about  her  head.  Her  sleeves 
were  loose  and  the  attitude  bared  her  arms.  As  Gwynne 
handed  her  the  pins,  one  by  one,  he  stared,  fascinated;  but 
when  she  had  finished  and  shaken  down  her  sleeves,  re 
turning  his  stare  with  two  polar  stars,  he  turned  his  back 
suddenly  and  resumed  his  tramp  of  the  room. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind,"  he  said,  abruptly.  "I  had 
intended  to  marry  you  on  any  terms,  merely  because  you 

598 


JNCESTOR^S 

suited  my  critical  taste.  But  I  believe  that  if  I  married 
you  in  that  way  I  should  beat  you  or  kill  you — or  you 
would  kill  me.  You  are  capable  of  anything.  Love  would 
square  matters  with  us — nothing  else." 

"Then  is  the  engagement  broken?"  asked  Isabel,  plac 
idly.  She  did  not  sit  down,  but  stood  with  a  foot  on  the 
fender. 

He  relieved  his  feelings  by  kicking  a  stool  across  the 
room,  then  came  and  stood  in  front  of  her. 

"Could  you  love  me?"  he  demanded. 

"I  am  not  the  village  prophet." 

"Have  you  made  up  your  mind  you  will  not  marry  me  ?" 

"Oh  yes— that." 

"  Because  you  couldn't  love  me,  or  because  you  are  de 
termined  not  to  marry  ?" 

"  I  won't  feel  and  suffer  and  have  my  life  torn  to  tatters 
when  I  can  keep  it  whole!  I  had  rather  marry  you  without 
love,  if  I  believed  myself  indispensable  to  your  success  in 
life." 

"Much  you  know  about  it.  I  won't  have  you  on  any 
such  terms." 

"You  are  in  no  imminent  danger.  Heavens,  what  a 
wind!  You  must  stay  here  to-night.  If  the  spare  room 
is  too  cold  you  can  sleep  on  this  divan." 

"If  that  is  a  polite  hint,  I  am  ready  to  take  it.  I  have 
been  here  long  enough." 

"Oh,  but  I  mean  it.  I  will  not  hear  of  you  riding  back 
in  this  pitch  darkness.  You  would  be  more  likely  to  go 
into  the  marsh  than  not.  You  can  return  to  Rosewater  so 
late  to-morrow  that  Sister  Ann  will  infer  you  have  made 
a  morning  call." 

"I  shall  return  to-night.  It  was  as  dark  when  I 
599 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

came,  and  I  am  not  altogether  a  fool.  Neither  is  my 
horse." 

"  But  you  are  not  so  familiar  with  the  road,"  murmured 
Isabel,  irrepressibly. 

"That  is  the  one  decent  thing  you  have  said  to  me  to 
night.  It  is  these  sudden  lapses  into  the  wholly  feminine 
that  save  me  from  despair.  What  a  night  for  romance, 
and  you  and  I  sparring  like  two  prize-fighters!  That  is  as 
far  as  we  have  ever  got.  If  you  would  ever  let  me  know 
you — sometimes  I  have  an  odd  fancy  that  I  can  see  a  lamp 
burning  in  your  breast,  and  that  if  ever  I  got  at  it,  and 
searched  all  the  nooks  and  crannies  of  your  strange  nature 
by  its  light,  I  should  love  you  as  profoundly  as  it  is  possible 
for  a  man  to  love  a  woman." 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  only  a  taper  in  a  cup  of  oil.  At  all 
events  it  is  not  a  search-light,  even  to  myself.  I  fancy 
people  only  seem  complicated  to  others  when  they  do  not 
wholly  understand  themselves." 

"Do  you  understand  yourself?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Are  you  perfectly  satisfied  that  you  never  could  love 
me?" 

She  reddened  and  her  sensitive  mouth  moved,  but  she 
brought  her  teeth  together.  "That  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it." 

"Everything!" 

"Nothing!" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  are  literally  contented 
with  your  life  as  it  is  ? — living  out  here  alone  with  nothing 
to  do  but  read  and  look  after  those  confounded  chickens  ? 
You  have  the  most  romantic  temperament  I  have  ever. met, 
and  the  way  you  gratify  it  would  make  an  elephant  laugh." 

600 


ANCESTORS 

"I  dream  and  think  of  the  future." 

"Future?  You  saw  what  that  amounted  to  when  you 
were  in  town — 

"I  have  shaken  off  the  impression.  It  must  have  been 
that  I  had  too  much  at  once — and  the  purely  frivolous, 
which  offended  my  puritanical  streak — 

"You  don't  like  the  Bohemian  crowd  any  better." 

"There  are  plenty  of  others.  When  I  am  ready  I 
shall  make  the  plunge  and  forbid  myself  to  shrink  from 
realities — 

"And  the  only  people  that  will  interest  you  will  be  those 
deep  in  public  affairs.  A  woman  to  be  a  political  power 
must  be  married.  Otherwise  she  becomes  the  worst  sort 
of  feminine  intriguer." 

"  I  am  interested  in  the  women  that  are  interested  in  the 
improvement  of  all  things." 

"And  what  is  their  ultimate  aim,  for  heaven's  sake? 
The  franchise.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  intend  to 
become  a  Club  woman  ?  I  had  sooner  you  wrote  a  book." 

"I  have  no  intention  of  doing  either — 

"In  other  words  you  are  a  plain  dreamer,  and  a  selfish 
one  at  that — 

"I  try  not  to  be  selfish.  I  visit  no  ill-humor  on  any  one 
— but  you! — and  I  do  good  where  I  can.  I  should  be 
more  selfish  if  I  ran  the  risk  of  making — some  man  un 
happy  in  matrimony." 

"Well,  I'm  sick  of  the  subject.  I  came  to  say  good-bye 
for  a  time.  I'm  off  to  the  south  to-morrow,  and  then  east 
on  business.  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  be  back — Oh, 
you  can  turn  white — I  can  make  you  turn  white!" 

"What  do  you  expect  when  you  fire  such  a  piece  of  news 
at  me  ?  What  is  behind  this  ?" 

60 1 


ANCESTORS 

"I  have  told  you  enough." 

"  Don't  you  trust  me  ?" 

"Oh,  you  can  keep  a  secret.  I  don't  know  that  I  want 
to  tell  you." 

"Very  well." 

"Oh,  well,  it  would  be  beastly  ungrateful  in  me  not  to. 
I  have  had  a  hint  that,  not  having  de-Americanized  myself 
formally  when  I  came  of  age,  I  may  still  be  an  American 
citizen.  Judge  Leslie  has  advised  me  to  go  to  Washington 
and  find  out,  and  I  am  going.  Are  you  really  so  inter 
ested  ?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Isabel,  softly.  "I  am  interested!  I 
have  been  afraid  you  might  become  discouraged  and  dis 
gusted.  Four  more  years  would  be  a  long  time.  Are 
you  glad  ?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not.  When  it  comes  to 
taking  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  United  States — if  that 
is  sprung  on  me  in  Washington — I  shall  feel  more  like 
taking  the  next  steamer  for  England  and  making  my  oaths 
there.  It  is  a  little  too  sudden." 

"  All  this  hesitation  and  doubt  are  natural  enough  until 
you  are  settled  down,  and  become  too  accustomed  to  the 
country  to  think  of  anything  else — 

"I  accept  the  balm.  But  I  have  less  hesitation  than  you 
imagine — whatever  the  doubt  and  disgust.  And  I  really 
believe  the  secret  of  my  unrest  is  you!  Good  heavens! 
Do  I  love  you — already — that  would  be  the  last  straw!" 

He  was  staring  at  her,  and  something  in  his  face  blinded 
her.  She  turned  cold  from  head  to  foot;  but  she  moved 
her  glance  to  the  baskets  on  the  mantel-shelf,  and  replied, 
quietly: 

"It  will  take  some  time  for  you  to  know  whether  you  are 
602 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

in  love  again  or  not.  You  have  seen  me  too  constantly 
— barring  the  last  month.  I  have  become  in  many  ways 
necessary  to  you.  When  you  move  to  San  Francisco,  as 
I  am  convinced  you  will,  and  have  many  other  resources 

— propinquity  is  all  there  is  to  ninth-tenths  of  what  we 

call  love and  then  a  little  more  kills  it!  Even  if  I 

were  under  the  same  delusion  as  you  are  I  should  not 
yield  to  it." 

"I  do  love  you,"  he  said,  as  slowly  and  clearly  as  he  was 
capable  of  enunciating.  But  his  voice  was  hoarse,  and 
she  was  sensible,  without  turning  her  head,  that  he  was 
rigid.  "It  is  different — quite  different.  I  am  willing  to 
wait,  however.  I  understand  your  hesitation.  When  I 
return — 

"  Doubt  of  the  reality  of  your — well — 

"Love,"  said  Gwynne,  grimly. 

But  Isabel  could  not  bring  herself  to  utter  the  word. 
"One  way  or  the  other,  it  does  not  alter  my  determination 
not  to  marry." 

"Let  that  rest  for  a  while.  What  I  want  to  know  is, 
could  you — do  you  love  me  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!  I  only  know  I  don't  want  to. 
You  have  a  tremendous  influence — you  have  made  every 
one  else  seem  commonplace  and  uninteresting — I  have 
resented  very  much  your  neglect  this  last  month.  I  am 
willing  to  tell  you  all  this — also,  that  I  have  dreamed, 
imagined  myself  in  love  with  you.  But  I  am  convinced 
that  if  you  let  me  alone  I  shall  get  over  it." 

"I  have  no  intention  of  letting  you  alone." 

She  moved  backward  suddenly,  and  he  laughed.  "I 
wouldn't  touch  you  with  a  forty-foot  pole, "he  said,  roughly, 
s<  unless  you  wanted  me.  That,  perhaps,  shows  how  far 
38  603 


A       N      C       E       S      T       O      R      S 

gone  I  am.     But  precious  little  you  know  about  men.    Or 
yourself.    If  I  kissed  you  this  minute  you  would  succumb — " 

He  turned  suddenly  and  was  down  the  hall  and  had 
slammed  the  kitchen  door  behind  him  before  she  realized 
that  she  was  actually  alone,  that  he  meant  to  leave  the 
house.  For  a  moment  she  clutched  the  edge  of  the 
mantel-piece  in  a  passion  of  relief  and  regret.  Then  her 
femininity  was  swept  aside  by  her  hospitable  instinct  and 
vehement  fear.  She  ran  down  the  hall  and  into  the 
kitchen.  But  even  his  rain  garments  and  boots  were 
gone.  She  opened  the  back  door  and  peered  out  into  the 
inky  darkness.  A  light  was  moving  in  the  stable.  The 
rain  was  falling  in  a  flood  and  the  wind  almost  drove  her 
backward.  But  she  gathered  up  her  gown  and  ran  as  fast 
as  she  could  make  headway  to  the  stable.  He  was  alone, 
and  tightening  his  horse's  saddle-girths  by  the  light  of  a 
dark  lantern.  He  gave  her  a  bare  glance  and  went  on 
with  his  work. 

"You  must  not  go!"  She  was  forced  to  scream.  "You 
shall  not.  Why,  you  are  mad.  The  marsh — such  con 
ventionality  is  ridiculous.  I  refuse  to  recognize  it." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  led  his  horse  outside.  But  before 
he  could  vault  to  the  saddle  she  caught  his  arm  and  dragged 
him  backward.  "You  shall  not  go!  You  shall  not!" 
She  could  hardly  hear  the  sound  of  her  voice.  But  she 
heard  his,  and  there  was  nothing  in  either  storm  or  dark 
ness  to  blunt  the  sense  of  touch.  For  a  moment  she  felt 
as  if  the  whole  had  never  been  halved,  as  if  they  two 
were  youth  incarnate;  and  his  arm  was  like  vibrating  iron 
along  her  back.  She  thought  he  was  going  to  kiss  her 
and  dazedly  moved  her  head  towards  him.  But  he  cried 
into  her  ear  instead: 

604 


A       N       C    _E       S^     T       O     _R S 

"I  stay  if  you  marry  me  to-morrow." 

"No,  no,  no!"  Her  will  sprang  through  her  lips,  and 
before  it  was  beaten  down  again  she  saw  a  spark  of  light 
engulfed  in  the  dark,  and  stood  alone  in  the  storm,  won 
dering  if  the  world  had  turned  over. 


VI 


"Monday  Morning. 

PHIS    is    merely   to    announce   that   I    survived   the 
1   marsh,  and   that  upon    my   return  we  will    resume 
where  we  left  off  last  night.  E.  G." 

Isabel  received  this  note  early  in  the  morning.  That 
night  she  had  accepted  an  invitation  of  some  weeks' 
standing,  and  was  established  in  the  old  Yorba  mansion  on 
Nob  Hill.  She  anathematized  her  cowardice,  but  solitude 
was  beyond  her  endurance  for  the  moment.  She  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  she  would  not  think  of  Gwynne  at  all, 
much  less  give  herself  opportunities  to  miss  and  desire 
him;  and  her  will,  reinforced  by  conditions,  was  strong 
enough  at  times  to  persuade  her  that  she  hated  him. 

And  there  was  nothing  in  the  Trennahan  household  to 
try  her  nerves,  everything  to  soothe  them.  Although  the 
old  buff  walls  and  terrible  carpets  of  Mrs.  Yorba's  day 
had  gone  long  since  and  the  house  had  been  completely 
refurnished,  it  looked  like  a  home,  not  a  museum.  Tren 
nahan  had  taken  his  family  to  Europe  many  times,  and 
they  had  brought  back  much  that  was  rare  and  beauti 
ful;  but  nothing  stood  out  obtrusively,  not  even  a  color. 
They  entertained  constantly  in  a  quiet  way,  and  if  Mag- 
dalena  was  far  too  Spanish  to  seek  out  the  clever  of  all 
sets,  and  Trennahan  too  indifferent,  at  least  Isabel  met 

606 


ANCESTORS 

daily  such  of  the  haute  noblesse  as  were  not  completely 
fossilized,  and  many  men  that  interested  her  well  enough. 
Moreover,  as  Mrs.  Trennahan  now  had  a  grown  -  up 
daughter,  she  was  obliged  to  take  her  to  the  cotillons  and 
other  routs  given  under  the  merciless  supervision  of  the 
Leader.  Isabel  accompanied  her  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  when  she  declined  an  invitation  her  guest  was  at  liberty 
to  go  with  the  ever  faithful  Mrs.  Hofer. 

For  three  weeks  Isabel  did  little  thinking.  She  went  to 
the  ranch  once  a  week  for  the  day  only,  spent  an  occasional 
hour  with  Lady  Victoria.  Even  then  she  was  barely  re 
minded  of  Gwynne.  She  was  busy  during  every  moment 
while  in  the  country,  and  her  relative  was  no  more  com 
municative  than  of  yore.  Only  once  did  Victoria  remark 
casually,  that,  by  a  sort  of  poetic  justice,  Gwynne  was  de 
tained  in  the  south  with  a  sprained  ankle,  and  was  hurling 
maledictions  at  fate  from  the  classic  shades  of  Santa  Bar 
bara.  Isabel  grudgingly  admired  the  restraint  with  which 
he  denied  himself  the  possible  solace  of  correspondence 
with  herself,  and  it  crossed  her  mind  once  or  twice  that 
the  young  man  might  have  the  understanding  of  women 
that  proceeded  from  instinct,  if  not  from  study.  But  she 
deliberately  dismissed  him,  and  although  his  name  was 
frequently  mentioned  in  her  presence,  she  soon  ceased  to 
turn  cold,  and  forced  him  to  flit  with  a  hundred  others 
across  the  surface  of  her  mind. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  flirted  desperately,  and 
with  others  besides  young  Hofer.  She  was  quite  wicked 
ly  indifferent  to  consequences,  and  was  inspired  to  woo 
the  fickle  goddess  of  popularity.  The  peace  and  charm 
and  intellectual  relief  of  the  Trennahan  home  did  much 
to  modify  her  shrinking  from  realities,  and  the  effort  to 


ANCESTORS 

please,  and  the  abandonment  to  the  purely  frivolous  in 
stincts  of  youth,  were  the  only  aides  her  beauty  needed  to 
achieve  that  popularity  she  had  abstractly  desired  the  night 
Gwynne  brought  her  the  stars.  She  no  longer  desired 
it  at  all,  but  she  disguised  this  fact,  and  reaped  the 
reward. 

Moreover,  although  her  analytical  faculty  slept  in  the 
darkest  wing  of  her  brain,  the  mere  fact  that  she  was 
stormily  loved  and  desired  by  a  man  to  whom  she  was 
powerfully  attracted,  that  for  a  moment  she  had  been 
awake  and  eager  in  his  embrace,  had  warmed  her  blood 
and  given  her  an  insolent  magnetism  that  she  had  never 
possessed  before. 

Through  Mr.  Colton  she  received  a  formal  request  from 
Gwynne  to  dedicate  the  Otis  Building — named  in  honor 
of  the  creator  of  the  family  fortunes — on  the  day  the  last 
of  the  foundation-stones  was  laid.  In  company  with  half 
a  hundred  other  young  people  in  automobiles,  she  as 
tonished  South  of  Market  Street,  one  beautiful  spring  day 
— the  spring  was  making  desperate  assaults  upon  the 
lingering  winter — and  amidst  much  mock  solemnity  and 
many  cheers,  deposited  into  the  chiselled  crypt  of  one  of 
the  great  concrete  blocks  upon  which  the  building  would 
rest,  a  strong-box  containing  three  of  Concha  Arguello's 
Baja  California  pearls,  several  family  daguerreotypes,  and 
the  original  deed  of  sale  which  had  transferred  the  prop 
erty  from  the  city  to  the  first  James  Otis.  When  the 
ceremony  was  over  the  contractor  shook  hands  with  her 
approvingly. 

"That's  as  good  a  place  as  any  for  a  deed  of  sale  in  this 
here  town/'  he  remarked.  "For  no  shake  will  ever  budge 
them  concrete  pillars.  They're  down  to  bed-rock.  And 

608 


^_     AT_      C       E    J!__    T    _0 R_      S 

no  fire  '11  ever  crack  them,  neither.  We'll  begin  on  the  steel 
frame  to-morrow,  and  you  must  come  down  occasionally 
and  cheer  us  up.  It  '11  be  worth  it.  The  Otis  's  goin'  to 
be  the  cock  o'  the  walk.  Better  make  up  your  mind  to 
have  them  terra-cotta  facings." 

"Oh,  they  would  not  raise  the  rents,  and  would  hardly 
be  appreciated  by  their  present  neighbors,"  said  Isabel, 
lightly.  "I  am  going  to  send  you  a  bottle  of  champagne 
to-night,  and  you  must  drink  to  the  health  of  The  Otis." 

The  man  promised  fervently  that  he  would,  and  then 
after  ordering  beer  from  a  neighboring  saloon  for  the 
workmen,  Isabel  and  her  party  motored  out  to  the  beach 
beyond  the  Cliff  House,  where  a  number  of  old  street-cars 
had  been  converted  into  bath-houses,  and  disported  them 
selves  in  the  waves  until  it  was  time  to  rush  home  and  make 
ready  for  the  Mardi  Gras  ball. 

This  yearly  function  was  given  in  the  Institute  of  Art 
on  Nob  Hill,  the  wooden  Gothic  mansion  with  bow-win 
dows,  erected  in  the  Eighties  by  a  railroad  millionaire  who 
had  barely  survived  his  nimble  victorious  assault  upon 
Fortune.  His  widow  had  presented  his  "monument"  to 
Art,  and  now  its  graceful  flimsy  walls  housed  much  that 
was  valuable  in  canvas  and  marble,  and  more  that  was 
worthless.  Once  a  year,  on  the  eve  of  Lent,  Society  gave 
a  Mardi  Gras  ball,  and  such  of  the  artists  as  were  known 
to  the  elect  decorated  the  rooms,  and  contributed  certain 
surprises.  This  year,  partly  out  of  compliment  to  the 
Leader  and  Miss  Otis,  partly  because  the  old  Spanish 
spirit  had  been  roaming  through  its  ancient  haunts  of  late, 
the  interior  of  the  mansion  was  hung  with  red  and  yellow. 
Isabel,  in  full  Spanish  costume,  led  the  grand  march 
with  young  Hofer,  who  was  dressed  as  a  toreador,  and 

609 


4_     N       C    ^E S_     T^  _O R       S 

supported  the  jeers  of  his  friends  in  the  gallery  with  what 
fortitude  he  could  summon:  he  was  plump  and  pink  and 
golden.  The  great  room,  surrounded  with  boxes  draped 
with  the  colors  of  Spain  and  filled  with  women  splendidly 
dressed  and  jewelled,  was  very  gay  and  inspiring,  and  the 
masques  flung  confetti  and  had  a  squib  for  everybody  with 
a  salient  characteristic.  When  the  march  finished,  Isabel, 
who  wore  a  half-mask  of  black  satin,  and  her  hair  in 
two  long  braids  plaited  with  gold  tinsel,  danced  a  Spanish 
dance  by  herself,  alternating  tambourine  and  castanets. 
She  had  practised  it  during  the  past  week  with  a  profes 
sional,  and  she  gave  it  with  all  the  graceful  sexless  abandon 
of  those  California  girls,  who,  a  hundred  years  before  that 
night,  were  dancing  out  at  the  Presidio  and  Mission. 
She  was  the  success  of  the  evening  as  she  had  purposed  to 
be,  and  went  home  with  two  proposals  to  her  credit,  and 
as  gratified  a  vanity  as  ever  titillated  the  nerves  of  an 
ambitious  and  heartless  young  flirt.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  that  Isabel  had  deliberately  elected  to  play  a  role  and 
achieved  so  signal  a  triumph  that  she  was  beset  with  the 
doubt  if  she  had  not  but  just  discovered  herself.  As  she 
fell  asleep  in  the  dawn  of  Lent  it  was  with  the  somewhat 
cynical  reflection  that  perhaps  she  could  make  quite  as 
great  a  success  of  the  role  of  the  statesman's  wife  were  she 
to  essay  it. 

The  roads  were  still  in  too  muddy  and  broken  a  condi 
tion  for  the  long -projected  automobile  trip,  and  the 
Trennahans  had  decided  to  hire  a  special  car  and  journey 
to  Mexico,  spending  some  time  in  Southern  California. 
They  urged  Isabel  to  go  with  them,  but  she  was  sure  that 
she  had  had  all  the  respite  she  needed,  nor  would  she 
neglect  her  chickens  any  longer.  In  truth  she  said  good- 

610 


A       N      C    ^E ^  J^     O       R       S 

bye  to  the  party,  which  included  not  only  Lady  Victoria, 
but  several  other  congenial  spirits,  with  a  considerable 
equanimity.  She  was  suddenly  tired  of  them  all  and  glad 
to  go  back  to  her  solitudes. 

Although  she  did  not  return  with  that  exuberance  of  joy, 
which,  upon  former  occasions  had  made  her  feel  like  a 
long-prisoned  nymph  restored  to  her  native  woodland,  still 
she  was  more  than  content  to  be  at  home  again,  and  sat 
on  her  veranda  until  darkness  closed  the  long  evening. 
Every  trace  of  the  winter's  madness  had  vanished.  The 
marsh  was  high  and  red  above  the  fallen  waters,  the  hills 
were  green,  the  trees  budding,  wild  flowers  were  beginning 
to  show  their  heads.  The  scene,  until  the  last  ray  of 
twilight  had  gone,  leaving  that  dark  formlessness  of  a 
California  night  with  its  horrid  suggestion,  was  almost  as 
peaceful  as  England. 

For  several  days  Isabel,  from  reaction  after  weeks  of 
incessant  gayety,  and  the  heaviness  of  early  spring,  was 
too  languid  to  find  even  her  Leghorns  interesting.  She 
slept  late,  yawned  through  the  day;  and  never  had  her 
hammock — swung  on  the  porch  at  the  beginning  of  spring 
— possessed  so  recurrent  an  attraction.  At  the  same  time 
she  was  conscious,  under  the  physical  inertia  which  had 
brought  her  mind  to  a  standstill,  that  she  avoided  Rose- 
water  lest  she  should  be  forced  to  talk  of  Gwynne.  He  was 
still  in  Santa  Barbara,  and  it  was  likely  that  he  would  be 
persuaded  to  go  with  the  Trennahans  to  Mexico.  There 
was  time  enough  to  seek  his  passport,  and  Isabel  could  well 
imagine  that  his  impatience  was  not  uncontrollable.  No 
doubt  he  understood  by  this  time  that  he  could  expect  no 
change  in  her,  if  indeed  he  had  not  dismissed  the  matter 
from  his  mind. 

611 


A       N       C      E       S       TOR    _5 

She  was  rudely  shaken  out  of  her  apathy  by  a  long  tele 
gram  from  him,  dated  at  El  Paso: 

"  I  have  come  this  far  with  the  Trennahans.  Go  on 
to  Washington  to-day.  Expect  me  any  time  now.  But 
should  I  be  detained  will  you  go  over  to  the  ranch  oc 
casionally  ?  Use  old  power  of  attorney  should  occasion 
arise.  Glad  you  made  the  running  you  wanted  at  last. 
Better  order  terra-cotta  facings  for  The  Otis.  Am  told 
that  two  other  buildings  will  go  up  shortly  in  neighbor 
hood.  Quite  fit  again.  E.  G." 

The  delight  and  relief  this  telegram  induced,  the  subtle 
sensation  of  hope  and  flattery,  not  only  routed  torpidity, 
but  lashed  her  into  such  a  state  of  fury  that  she  ran  up  to 
her  bedroom  and  indulged  in  an  attack  of  nerves.  When 
it  was  over  she  faced  the  truth  with  the  unshrinking 
clarity  of  vision  she  could  summon  at  will.  But  if  she  was 
not  as  astonished  as  she  thought  she  ought  to  be,  she  was  no 
less  angry,  not  only  with  herself,  but  with  life  for  playing 
her  such  a  trick.  Less  than  ever  did  she  want  to  marry, 
and  cease  to  be  wholly  herself,  to  run  the  risk  of  disillusion 
ment  and  weariness,  and  that  ultimate  philosophy  which 
was  no  compensation  for  the  atrophy  and  death  of  im 
agination.  But  no  less  did  she  turn  appalled  from  the 
thought  of  a  future  without  Gwynne.  All  her  old  vague 
plans  were  suddenly  formless,  and  she  felt  that  if  she 
even  faced  the  prospect  of  regarding  the  shifting  beauties 
of  the  Rosewater  marsh  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  she  would 
hate  nature  as  much  as  she  now  hated  her  treacherous  self. 
And  none  could  divine  better  than  she,  that,  present  or 
dismissed,  when  a  man  has  conquered  a  woman's  invisible 

612 


A       N      C_     E       S       T 0_    R    _S 

and  indefensible  part  she  might  as  well  give  him  the  rest. 
He  is  in  control.  She  has  lost  her  freedom  for  ever.  So 
strong  was  the  feeling  of  mental  possession  that  Isabel 
glanced  uneasily  about  the  room,  half-expecting  to  see  the 
soul  of  Gwynne;  wondering  inconsequently  if  it  would 
descend  to  notice  that  her  eyes  were  red.  But  she  vowed 
passionately  that  she  would  not  marry  him.  If  she  had 
to  be  unhappy,  far  better  unhappy  alone  and  free,  with 
some  of  her  illusions  undispelled.  She  had  seen  no  married 
happiness  that  she  envied,  even  where  there  was  a  fine 
measure  of  love  and  philosophy.  Even  Anabel  had  come 
to  her  one  day  in  town,  looking  rather  strained  and  worn, 
and,  in  the  seclusion  of  Isabel's  bedroom,  had  confessed 
that  the  constant  exactions  of  a  husband,  three  children, 
and  migratory  servants  "got  on  her  nerves,"  and  made  her 
long  for  a  change  of  any  sort.  "And  there  are  so  many 
little  odd  jobs,  in  a  house  full  of  children,"  she  had  added, 
with  a  sigh.  "And  they  recur  every  day.  You  can  no 
more  get  away  from  them  than  from  ycur  three  meals; 
I  never  really  have  a  moment  I  can  call  my  own.  Of 
course  I  am  perfectly  happy,  but  I  do  wish  Tom  were  not 
in  politics  and  would  take  me  to  Europe  for  a  few  years." 
And  if  Anabel  was  not  happy — wholly  happy — with  her 
supreme  capacity  for  the  domestic  life,  how  could  she  hope 
to  endure  the  yoke  ?  She  with  her  impossible  ideals  and 
theories  ?  Not  that  they  were  impossible;  but  to  anticipate, 
in  this  world,  the  plane  upon  which  the  more  highly  en 
dowed  natures  dared  to  hope  they  were  to  dwell  in  the 
next,  absolute  freedom  was  necessary.  Isabel's  theory  of 
life — for  women  of  her  make — had  not  altered  a  whit,  but 
the  beckoning  finger  had  lost  its  vigor.  That  left  her  with 
no  material  out  of  which  to  model  a  future  for  this  plane 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

— which,  of  course,  was  another  triumph  to  the  credit  of 
the  race. 

She  knew  that  Gwynne  had  conquered,  that  she  had 
really  loved  him,  as  soon  as  he  had  ceased  to  play  upon  her 
maternal  instincts.  She  had  casually  assumed  at  the  time 
that  her  interest  in  him  was  decreasing,  but  in  this  day  of 
retrospect,  she  realized  keenly  that  it  had  marked  the  open 
ing  of  a  new  chapter.  This  was,  perhaps,  the  most  signal 
of  Gwynne's  victories,  for  the  maternal  tenderness  for 
man  means  maternal  dominance,  a  cool  sense  of  superi 
ority.  Isabel  was  so  conscious  of  Gwynne's  mastery  that 
she  longed  to  kick  him  as  she  blushed  to  recall  she  had 
done  once  before.  She  rubbed  her  arms  instinctively, 
as  if  she  still  felt  the  furious  pressure  of  his  fingers,  and 
when  the  memory  of  another  sort  of  pressure  abruptly 
presented  itself  she  hurredly  bathed  her  eyes  and  went  out 
on  her  horse. 


VII 


FOR  a  week  she  was  so  moody  and  irascible  that 
Abraham  twice  gave  warning,  Old  Mac  artfully  took 
to  his  bed  with  rheumatism,  and  only  the  inexcitable 
Chuma  was  unconcerned.  She  rode  her  horse  nearly  to 
death,  snubbed  Anabel — whose  children  were  down  with 
the  measles — over  the  telephone,  and  even  boxed  the  ears 
of  a  dilatory  hen.  At  the  end  of  the  week  a  sudden  ap 
preciation  of  her  likeness  to  a  cross  old  maid  frightened 
her,  and  time  and  the  weather  completed  the  cure.  Her 
ill-humor,  which  had  scourged  through  every  avenue  of 
her  being,  took  itself  off  so  completely  that  it  seemed  to 
announce  it  had  had  enough  of  her  and  would  return 
no  more. 

And  the  spring  came  with  a  rush.  The  hills  burst  into 
buttercups,  "blue  eyes/'  yellow  and  purple  lupins,  the 
heavy  pungent  gold-red  poppy.  The  young  green  of  weep 
ing  willows  and  pepper-trees  looked  indescribably  delicate 
against  the  hard  blue  sky.  Rosewater  was  a  great  park, 
all  her  little  squares  and  gardens,  and  long  rambling  streets, 
set  thick  with  camellias,  roses,  orange-trees  heavy  with 
fruit,  immense  acacia-trees  loaded  with  fragrant  yellow 
powdery  blossoms.  Main  Street  was  clean  again,  and  so 
were  the  farmers  and  their  teams  at  the  hitching-rails; 
the  girls  were  beginning  to  wear  white  at  church  on 
Sunday,  and  to  walk  about  without  their  hats.  The  great 

6.5 


ANCESTORS 

valley  was  as  green  as  the  hills,  save  where  the  earth  had 
been  turned,  and  one  or  two  almond  orchards  were  so 
pink  they  could  be  seen  a  mile  away.  It  was  spring  in  all 
its  glory,  without  a  taint  of  summer's  heat,  or  a  lingering 
chill  of  winter. 

In  Isabel's  garden  were  many  old  Castilian  rose  bushes, 
that  for  fifty  years  had  covered  themselves  pink  with  the 
uninterrupted  lustiness  of  youth;  and  their  penetrating, 
yet  chaste  and  elusive  fragrance,  combined  with  the  rich 
heavy  perfume  of  the  acacia-tree  beside  the  house,  would 
have  inspired  a  distiller  and  blender  of  scents.  The  birds 
sang  as  if  possessed  of  a  new  message;  and  several  of 
Isabel's  prize  roosters,  tired  of  their  old  harems,  flew  over 
the  wire-fences  and  strutted  ofF  in  search  of  adventure, 
proclaiming  their  route  by  loud  and  boastful  clamor. 
When  they  were  captured  by  the  unsympathetic  Abe  and 
restored  to  their  excited  ladies,  they  flew  at  and  smacked 
them  soundly,  then  tossed  back  their  red  combs  and  crowed 
with  all  their  might:  a  paean  to  the  ever  conquering 
male. 

There  were  other  flowers  besides  Castilian  roses  in  Isa 
bel's  garden,  haphazardly  set  out  and  cared  for,  but  the 
more  riotous  and  luxuriant  for  that.  And  all  around  her, 
save  on  the  Leghorns'  hills,  was  the  gay  delicate  tapestry 
of  the  wild  flowers.  The  marsh  glittered  like  bronze  in 
the  sunlight.  In  the  late  afternoon  it  was  as  violet  as  the 
hills.  In  the  evening  afterglows  it  swam  in  as  many  col 
ors  as  the  Roman  Campagna.  At  this  hour  the  sky  was 
often  as  pink  as  the  almond  orchards,  melting  above  into 
a  blue  light  but  intense;  while  everything  in  its  glow,  the 
tall  trees  on  the  distant  mountains,  and  the  picturesque 
irregularities  of  the  marsh-lands,  seemed  to  lift  up  their 

616 


A       N    _C_    _E_     S       T    _O R S 

heads  and  drink  in  the  beauty  until  Isabel  expected  to 
see  them  reel. 

And  the  pagan  intoxication  of  spring  took  as  complete  a 
possession  of  her.  She  sat  under  the  long  drooping  yellow 
sprays  of  her  acacia-tree,  her  lap  full  of  the  pink  Castilian 
roses,  and  dreamed.  No  one  could  help  being  in  love 
in  the  spring,  she  concluded,  given  a  concrete  inspiration; 
and  far  be  it  from  any  creature  so  close  to  nature  as  her 
self  to  attempt  to  stem  that  insidious  musical  scented  tide. 
It  was  possible  that  Gwynne  would  not  return,  or  returning, 
would  flout  her;  she  hardly  cared.  In  fact  so  steeped  was 
she  in  the  pleasures  of  merely  loving,  in  a  sweet  if  some 
what  halcyon  passion,  that  she  had  no  wish  that  the  mood 
should  be  dispelled;  and  felt  that  she  could  ask  nothing 
more  than  to  spend  the  rest  of  her  mortal  life  with  a  beau 
tiful  memory — like  the  aunt  whose  dust  lay  over  the 
mountain  in  the  convent  yard.  She  knew  that  if  Gwynne 
returned  and  demanded  her,  she  should  be  tempted  to 
marry  him — she  never  went  so  far  as  to  promise  either 
him  or  herself  the  rounded  chapter;  but  one  of  the  strong 
est  instincts  of  her  nature  was  to  squeeze  the  passing  mo 
ment  dry,  jealously  drink  every  drop  of  its  juice.  She 
had  no  intention  of  tormenting  herself  with  problematical 
futures.  Futures  took  care  of  themselves,  anyhow. 

She  was  subconciously  aware  that  she  could  conceive 
and  portray  a  more  extreme  phase  of  emotion  than  this 
present  evolution,  but  she  deliberately  avoided  the  phan 
tasm.  She  was  utterly,  ideally,  absurdly  happy.  Not  for 
a  moment  did  she  desire  the  raw  material,  the  concrete 
substance,  to  which  all  dreams  owe  their  being.  The 
wild  pagan  gladness  of  the  wood-nymph,  rejoicing  in  her 
freedom  from  the  worries  of  common  mortals,  and  in  the 


ANCESTORS 

vision  of  an  undefined  but  absolute  happiness,  was  enough 
for  her.  Sometimes,  when  walking  in  the  early  morning, 
far  into  the  hills,  and  away  from  human  eyes,  she  let  the 
light  electric  breezes  intoxicate  her,  and  danced  as  she 
walked,  or  sang;  nor,  indeed,  was  she  above  whistling. 
She  often  spent  the  evening  hours  on  the  marsh,  those  long 
twilights  that  are  so  like  England's;  remaining,  sometimes, 
as  late  into  the  night  as  the  tide  would  permit,  enjoying 
the  contrast  of  the  lonely  desolate  menacing  landscape  with 
the  utter  beauty  of  the  day.  She  avoided  San  Francisco 
and  Rosewater,  but  the  extraordinary  effervescence  within 
her  demanded  an  outlet  of  a  sort,  and  she  was  so  radiant 
to  her  small  staff  that  they  looked  upon  her  with  awe. 
She  had  actually  a  fortnight  of  bliss,  and  hoped  that 
nothing  might  happen  to  disturb  it  for  ever  and  ever. 
But  no  one's  world  has  ever  yet  stood  still. 

One  day  Tom  Colton's  hoarse  voice  over  the  telephone 
begged  her  to  "come  at  once."  She  was  on  her  horse  in 
ten  minutes,  in  Rosewater  in  half  an  hour.  There  were 
groups  of  people  in  the  street  near  the  younger  Coltons' 
house,  the  front  door  was  open,  several  members  of  the 
family  were  passing  in  and  out.  As  she  entered  the  garden 
she  saw  one  of  them  tie  a  knot  of  white  ribbon  to  the  bell 
knob. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  run.  She  felt  that  rather 
would  she  hear  of  Gwynne's  death  than  face  Anabel  in 
her  maternal  agony.  But  she  set  her  teeth  and  went  on, 
far  more  frightened  than  sympathetic.  The  people  that 
overflowed  the  hall  and  parlor  were  all  crying,  but  nodded 
to  her,  and  Tom  Colton,  haggard  and  white,  appeared 
at  the  head  of  the  stair  and  beckoned.  He  pointed  to  the 
door  of  his  wife's  bedroom,  as  she  ascended,  and  she  went 

618 


A      N      C       E       S T O       R       S 

forward  hastily  and  entered  without  knocking.  Anabel 
was  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  that  led  into  the 
nursery.  Her  face  was  white  and  wild,  but  she  had  not 
been  crying. 

"Isabel!"  she  exclaimed,  in  loud  astonished  voice,  "my 
baby  is  dead!  My  baby  is  dead!" 

Then  Isabel,  greatly  to  her  own  surprise,  dropped  into 
a  chair  and  burst  into  vehement  tears.  For  the  moment 
the  child  was  hers,  she  suffered  pangs  of  maternal  bereave 
ment  that  seemed  to  tear  her  breast  and  twist  her  heart. 
But  there  was  a  terrible  ;silence  in  those  two  rooms,  and 
in  a  few  moments  it  chilled  and  calmed  her.  She  looked 
up  to  see  Anabel  staring  at  her  with  blank  expanded 
eyes. 

"What  are  you  crying  for?  You?"  demanded  the 
young  mother.  "I  never  saw  you  cry  before.  And  it's 
not  your  baby." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Isabel,  humbly.  "I  suppose  it  is 
because  I  am  so  sorry  for  you.  I  am — terribly." 

"I  never  thought  you  had  that  much  feeling,"  said 
Anabel,  dully.  "You  were  always  the  strong  one.  Corne 
and  see  my  baby." 

Isabel  rose,  trembling  and  unnerved,  but  no  longer 
shrinking,  and  followed  Anabel  into  the  nursery,  where 
the  child,  looking  like  a  little  wax  -  work,  lay  in  its 
crib. 

"She  is  dead!"  said  Anabel,  in  the  same  astonished  in 
dignant  voice.  "My  baby!"  She  caught  Isabel's  arm 
and  shook  it  violently.  "It  isn't  true,"  she  commanded. 
"Say  it  is  not.  How  can  it  be  ?  She  spoke  and  laughed 
only  two  hours  ago.  The  relapse  was  nothing.  The 
doctor  said  so.  That  is  not  my  baby."  And  then  her 
so  619 


ANCESTORS 

brain  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  Isabel  carried  her  into 
the  other  room. 

She  remained  with  her  until  after  the  funeral.  Anabel, 
when  she  recovered  her  senses,  cried  hopelessly  for  hours, 
but  gradually  controlled  herself  and  rose  and  went  about 
her  affairs  with  a  stern  calm.  It  was  her  first  trouble,  but 
not  for  nothing  had  she  been  given  a  square  jaw  and  a 
sturdy  little  figure.  She  was  filled  with  dumb  protest, 
and  laid  away  her  bright  careless  youth  in  the  child's 
coffin,  but  she  accepted  the  inevitable. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leslie  were  in  the  south  when  the  baby 
died,  but  arrived  for  the  funeral.  Until  then  Anabel 
clung  to  her  friend,  and  so  did  young  Colton,  who  was  far 
more  demoralized  than  his  wife.  He  did  not  brush  his 
hair,  nor  go  to  bed,  but  wandered  about  the  house  like  a 
bewildered  spirit,  occasionally  smiting  his  hands  together, 
or  embracing  the  other  two  children  convulsively.  He 
had  no  support  to  offer  his  wife,  and  Isabel  was  glad  to 
stay  with  the  brave  stricken  little  creature;  but  when  Mrs. 
Leslie  arrived  she  felt  herself  superfluous  and  returned 
home. 

She  had  had  little  time  to  think  of  Gwynne,  but  it  had 
crossed  her  mind  that  she  would  accept  this  heartrending 
episode,  in  which  she  had  been  called  upon  to  play  an 
intimate  part,  as  but  another  warning;  one,  moreover, 
that  would  stand  its  ground  did  she  attempt  to  force  it  aside. 
But  Gwynne  entered  and  filled  her  dispossessed  mind  the 
moment  she  sat  down  under  her  acacia-tree,  which  was 
perhaps  an  hour  after  her  return  home.  But  this  time 
her  dreams  did  not  flow  upon  a  smooth  golden  scented 
tide.  She  searched  the  accumulated  newspapers  for  men 
tion  of  him  in  the  despatches,  wept  stormily  at  his  neglect, 

620 


ANCESTORS 

tormented  herself  with  the  belief  that  Julia  Kaye  was  in 
Washington;  at  all  events  that  he  had  discovered  that  his 
love  for  herself  was  but  one  more  passing  fancy,  born  of 
propinquity. 

She  saw  mention  of  him.  Twice  he  had  dined  at  the 
White  House,  and  his  name  was  frequently  in  the  list  of 
guests  at  other  dinners  and  functions.  He  was  not  visiting 
at  the  British  Embassy,  and  Isabel  drew  her  only  comfort 
from  the  fact:  he  might  be  enjoying  himself  too  much  to 
think  of  her,  but  his  purpose  was  unaltered,  or  he  certainly 
would  be  the  guest  of  a  man  whom  she  knew  to  be  his 
friend:  Gwynne  was  the  last  man  to  embarrass  anybody, 
and  if  the  ambassador  had  enemies  they  would  find  his 
connivance  at  the  Americanization  of  a  useful  British 
peer  vastly  to  his  own  discredit. 

Isabel  enjoyed  no  further  peace  of  mind.  The  flames 
of  uncertainty  devoured  her.  The  worst  she  could  endure, 
but  suspense  spurred  her  always  ardent  imagination  to  such 
appalling  feats  that  she  barely  ate  or  slept.  But  she  was 
far  too  high-handed  to  suffer  actively  for  long.  She  buried 
her  pride  in  one  of  her  many  crypts,  summoned  her 
feminine  craft,  and  wrote  Gwynne  a  letter.  It  began  in 
the  brief  and  business-like  manner  the  iniquities  of  their 
builders  demanded — they  were  on  strike — and  her  facile 
pen  flowed  on  with  various  other  items  of  information, 
more  or  less  unpleasant.  Mr.  Clink,  the  lessee  of  Moun 
tain  House,  had  absconded  with  all  the  furniture,  includ 
ing  the  doors  and  windows,  and  she  hesitated  to  refurnish, 
not  knowing  if  Gwynne  would  return  in  time  for  the  salmon- 
fishing.  Nor  had  she  been  able  to  find  another  tenant, 
although  she  had  spent  two  days  in  the  mountains.  She 
thought  it  might  be  a  good  place  for  a  sanitarium,  if  he 

621 


ANCESTORS 

were  inclined  to  form  a  company.  Some  sulphur  springs 
had  recently  bubbled  out  of  the  ground  near  the  house, 
which  would  add  to  the  value  of  the  property;  but  she  must 
confess  that  they  ruined  the  place  for  her.  She  distrusted 
the  sudden  advent  of  mineral  waters;  one  never  knew  what 
was  coming  next.  Then,  after  more  cheering,  but  equally 
practical  information,  she  rambled  off  into  gossip,  told  the 
sad  story  of  the  Coltons'  bereavement,  and  asked  him  a 
few  friendly  questions  about  himself.  Of  course  he  had  not 
succeeded  in  getting  his  passport  or  he  would  be  home — 
unless,  to  be  sure,  the  Britisher  was  too  strong  in  him  after 
all,  and  he  would  not  return.  This  alternative  she  con 
templated  with  a  lively  regret,  for  she  had  had  no  one  to 
talk  to  since  he  left,  and  so  much  business  sat  heavily 
on  her  shoulders.  Then  she  announced  herself  his  af 
fectionate  cousin;  and  it  was  not  until  the  letter  was  gone, 
and  quite  a  day  of  self-gratulation  at  her  own  adroitness, 
that  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  Gwynne  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  the  first  letter  should  come  from  her. 
For  a  few  moments  she  was  furious,  then  concluded  that 
she  did  not  care;  she  wanted  to  hear  from  him  on  any 
terms.  She  counted  the  days,  intending  finally  to  count 
the  hours  and  minutes;  but  this  agreeably  breathless  task 
came  to  an  abrupt  end  at  the  close  of  the  sixth  day. 
Gwynne  answered  by  telegraph.  He  thanked  her  for  her 
interesting  and  more  than  welcome  letter.  He  was  well, 
and  bored,  and  hoping  daily  to  settle  his  affairs  and  start 
for  home.  In  any  case  he  should  have  returned  to  Cali 
fornia:  he  was  surprised  at  her  doubts.  She  was  not  to 
bother  further  about  his  affairs  out  there.  He  had  tele 
graphed  to  the  contractor  that  he  could  wait  as  long  as 
the  strikers.  He  added  that  he  longed  for  California. 

622 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

Isabel  wondered  if  he  had  not  dared  to  trust  himself  in 
a  letter,  finally  concluded  that  this  was  the  secret  of  the 
long  telegram,  dismissed  her  apprehensions,  and,  with  a 
soothed  but  by  no  means  tranquil  imagination,  yielded 
herself  up  again  to  dreams  and  the  spring. 


VIII 


IT  was  close  upon  the  middle  of  April  when  Gwynne  left 
the  train  a  mile  from  Lumalitas,  and,  being  unheralded, 
walked  across  the  fields  to  his  house.  He  had  intended  to 
get  off  at  Rosewater,  hire  the  fastest  horse  in  town,  and  ride 
out  to  Old  Inn;  but  he  had  been  seized  with  doubt  and 
diffidence,  and  while  he  was  still  turning  hot  and  cold  the 
train  moved  out  of  the  station.  It  was  now  nearly  ten 
weeks  since  he  had  seen  Isabel,  and  during  that  time  he  had 
received  one  letter  from  her.  This  letter  he  had  read  and 
reread  until  its  contents  were  meaningless;  and  he  was 
still  in  doubt  as  to  what  might  lurk  between  the  lines. 
He  was  reasonably  sure  that  he  had  forced  her  to  write, 
but  whether  mere  pique  and  curiosity  had  been  his  aides, 
he  was  far  from  being  able  to  determine.  She  had  been 
right  in  assuming  that  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  the 
tempting  privacy  of  the  letter.  He  had  no  idea  how  he 
stood,  and  would  not  run  the  risk  of  making  a  fool  of  him 
self;  not  until  he  was  face  to  face  with  her  could  he  pre 
tend  to  decide  upon  any  course  of  action.  But  he  had 
been  tormented  for  ten  weeks  as  he  had  never  expected  to 
be  tormented  by  any  woman.  Although  he  still  assured 
himself  that  he  intended  to  marry  her,  the  riot  in  his  mind 
and  blood  bred  distrust  of  himself  and  evoked  terrible  im 
ages  of  Isabel  at  the  altar  with  another.  He  should  hate 
to  the  day  of  his  death  the  beautiful  old  town  of  Santa 

624 


A       N      C       E       S       T       0       R       S 

Barbara,  where  he  had  been  without  any  sort  of  refuge 
from  his  thoughts;  and  in  Washington,  although  he  had 
managed  to  occupy  his  mind  and  time  profitably,  there 
were  still  hours  which  he  must  spend  alone,  and  he  had 
dreaded  them. 

And  he  was  beset  by  other  doubts  than  those  of  the 
mere  lover.  He  was  conscious  that  in  these  weeks  of 
absence  and  longing,  he  had  idealized  Isabel,  until  the 
being  he  dwelt  with  in  fancy  was  more  goddess  than 
woman.  He  knew  many  sides  of  her,  but  much  had 
eluded  him,  even  after  he  began  to  study  her.  That  she 
was  gifted  in  large  measure  with  what  the  Americans  so 
aptly  termed  cussedness  he  had  good  reason  to  know;  and 
whether  this  very  definite  characteristic  so  far  controlled 
her  nature  as  to  hold  her  nobler  qualities  in  durance — 
or  were  there  nobler  qualities  ?  She  had  brain  and  com 
mon-sense;  both  attributes  had  compelled  his  respect  long 
since.  And  she  had  character  and  pride — loyalty  and 
independence.  He  had  had  glimpses  of  what  he  would 
unhesitatingly  have  accepted  as  heart  and  passion  had  he 
not  known  himself  to  be  dazzled  by  her  beauty  and  wilful 
powers  of  fascination.  That  she  was  wholly  feminine,  at 
least,  he  was  convinced;  she  was  too  often  absurdly  so  to 
keep  up,  with  any  one  that  saw  her  constantly,  the  fiction 
of  the  sexless  philosopher.  The  very  devil  in  her  was  of 
the  unmistakable  feminine  kidney.  All  this  gave  him  hope, 
and  he  knew,  that  when  caprice  permitted,  she  would  be 
unrivalled  as  a  companion.  Intellectually,  at  least,  there 
was  no  thought  of  his  she  could  not  share  and  appreciate; 
and  her  sense  of  humor  and  her  feminine  perversities  would 
always  delight  him.  If  only  there  were  depths  beneath. 
The  longings  of  the  spirit  are  always  formless,  vaguely 

625 


A       N       C      E       S       T       O       R       S 

worded,  a  little  shamefaced.  Gwynne  hardly  knew  what 
was  the  great  extreme  he  wanted  in  his  wife,  but  he  knew 
that  if  he  did  not  find  it  he  should  be  miserable.  He  was 
by  no  means  the  young  man  that  had  fallen  blindly  in  love 
with  Julia  Kaye.  He  had  had  little  time  for  introspection, 
for  intimate  knowledge  of  himself,  in  those  days. 

The  spring  was  invented  to  remind  men  what  mere 
mortals  they  are.  Gwynne  would  have  felt  restless  and 
disinclined  for  law  and  politics  this  morning  had  he  never 
seen  Isabel  Otis.  Every  lark  in  the  great  valley  was  sing 
ing  madly.  Blue  birds,  yellow  birds,  sat  on  the  fences  and 
carolled  at  each  other  as  if  the  world  were  always  May. 
The  very  earth  seemed  to  have  sprouted  into  color.  He 
had  never  imagined  wild  flowers  by  the  billion,  nor  such  a 
harmonious  variety  of  color.  The  fields  were  green,  the 
cherries,  black  and  red  and  white,  glistening  and  luscious, 
were  ready  for  picking  in  his  orchards.  As  he  approached 
his  house,  he  saw  that  all  the  white  oaks,  bare  in  winter, 
were  in  leaf;  large  soft  young  green  leaves,  that  almost  hid 
the  pendent  sad  green  moss.  The  air  was  warm  and  light, 
the  sky  so  blue  it  seemed  to  laugh  with  a  promise  of  eternal 
good  things.  The  whole  land  breathed  hope,  and  youth, 
and  allurement  to  every  delight,  of  which  she  alone  possess 
ed  the  store.  He  was  soon  to  learn  what  a  liar  she  was, 
but  although  it  was  many  a  long  day  before  he  took  note 
of  any  phase  of  nature  again,  save  her  weather,  he  had 
an  elusive  presentiment  that  he  should  never  cease  to  be 
grateful  for  that  moment  of  quick  unreasoning  exultation 
in  his  youth  and  manhood,  and  in  the  mere  joy  of  life. 

He  was  not  surprised,  as  he  turned  the  corner  of  the 
veranda,  to  find  Imura  Kisaburo  Hinamoto  sitting  with 
his  feet  on  the  railing,  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  and  a 

626 


ANCESTORS 

volume,  issued  by  the  United  States  Coast  and  Geodetic 
Survey,  on  his  knee.  But  as  the  servant  saw  the  master 
he  rose  promptly  to  his  feet,  extinguished  the  cigarette  with 
his  fingers,  and  stood  in  an  attitude  of  extreme  respect. 
He  even  smiled,  but  not  propitiatingly;  it  was  almost  pat 
ent  that  the  return  of  his  chance  superior  was  welcome. 

Gwynne  nodded.  "Glad  to  see  that  you  still  improve 
your  mind,"  he  observed.  "Tell  Carlos  to  hitch  up  and 
go  for  my  luggage:  I  left  it  at  the  station."  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  It  was  half-past  eleven.  He  hesitated  a 
moment,  then  decided  to  postpone  his  visit  to  Isabel  again. 
He  did  not  feel  in  the  mood  to  sit  down  and  eat  with  her. 
"My  horse  at  two  o'clock,"  he  added.  And  the  Jap  disap 
peared. 

Gwynne  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  Mariana,  who  was 
peeling  onions  for  an  olla  podrida,  screamed  and  em 
braced  him. 

"No  could  help,"  she  said,  philosophically.  "Very  glad, 
senor,  very  glad." 

Gwynne  was  not  in  the  humor  to  repulse  anybody,  and 
assured  her  that  she  really  made  him  feel  that  he  had  re 
turned  to  his  home.  Several  of  her  tribe  were  in  the  kitchen 
and  looked  expectant.  He  informed  them  that  he  had  a 
box  of  New  York  sweets  in  his  trunk,  and  retreated. 

On  the  veranda  he  sat  down  facing  his  mountain,  which 
like  the  rest  of  the  world  was  a  mass  of  delicate  color, 
where  it  was  not  merely  green,  and  seemed  to  move  gently 
under  the  pink  shimmering  haze.  Beyond  was  the  blue 
crouching  mass  of  the  old  volcano.  "The  eternal  hills" 
was  a  phrase  that  never  occurred  to  him  when  he  watched 
these  mountains,  always  veiled  under  a  colored  and  moving 
haze.  They  looked  far  more  likely  to  pull  up  their  feet 

627 


INCEST       O       R       S 

and  walk  off.  But  Gwynne,  although  the  border  beneath 
his  veranda  was  full  of  sweet  scents,  and  the  roses  on  the 
pillars  hung  about  him,  and  the  air  was  a  soft  caressing 
tide,  was  no  longer  concerned  with  nature.  He  was 
nervous  and  full  of  doubt,  of  uneasy  anticipation  that  he 
would  not  appear  to  advantage  at  three  o'clock  that 
afternoon.  He  knew  that  if  he  were  really  panic-stricken 
and  attempted  to  carry  it  off  in  the  masterful  manner,  she 
would  laugh  in  his  face.  If  he  could  work  himself  up  to 
the  attitude,  well  and  good.  At  the  same  time  he  was 
vaguely  conscious  that  this  period  of  alternate  hope  and 
fear,  of  cold  fits  and  hot,  would  one  day  be  sweet  in  the 
retrospect,  and  regretted  with  some  sadness;  an  episode 
in  the  lover's  progress  gone  beyond  recall. 

There  was  a  sound  of  wheels  on  the  county  road,  then 
on  his  own  property.  He  wondered  at  the  unusual  dis 
patch  of  his  Carlos,  but  realized  in  a  moment  that  a  buggy 
was  approaching,  not  a  wagon.  Then  there  was  a  light 
slouching  step  on  the  veranda,  and  he  rose  to  greet  Tom 
Col  ton. 

"By  Jove,  old  chap,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  he  began,  and 
thankful  that  he  had  written  his  condolences;  but  he  paused 
abruptly.  Colton  ignored  the  outstretched  hand. 

"So  you've  got  your  passport?"  he  said.  And  his  in 
genuous  blue  eyes  were  full  of  a  hard  antagonism. 

"Yes,"  said  Gwynne.  "I  should  have  told  you  in  a 
day  or  two.  How  did  you  find  out  ?"  he  added,  curiously. 
"I  took  my  oath  before  the  passport  clerk  in  the  inner 
most  recess  of  the  State  Department." 

"There's  not  much  I  don't  find  out,  Only,  I  got  wind 
of  this  a  little  too  late.  So  did  some  others,  or  you  might 
have  hung  round  Washington  for  the  next  four  years. 

628 


ANCESTORS 

Do  you  call  it  square  not  to  have  told  me  of  this  before 
you  left  ?" 

"I  saw  no  obligation  to  take  you  into  my  confidence. 
In  the  first  place  the  result  of  my  pilgrimage  was  very 
doubtful,  and  in  the  second  you  would  have  done  all  you 
could  to  balk  me.  When  have  I  given  you  reason  to  write 
me  down  an  ass  ?" 

"You  are  too  damned  clever,"  muttered  Colton.  "Too 
clever  by  half.  Much  better  for  you  if  you  had  stayed 
where  you  were.  You  had  no  enemies  when  you  left,  but 
now,  let  me  tell  you,  you've  got  a  bunch  that  it  will  take 
more  than  your  cleverness  to  handle." 

"They  can  do  their  worst.  I  thought  that  all  I  needed 
was  hard  work,  but  I  fancy  that  what  I  missed  most  was 
the  stimulus  of  enemies." 

"Well,  you've  got  it  all  right." 

Somewhat  to  the  host's  surprise  he  suddenly  seated 
himself  and  tipped  back  his  chair.  Gwynne  remained 
standing,  leaning  against  a  pillar,  his  hands  In  his  pockets. 
Colton  surveyed  him  frankly.  His  eyes  were  still  hard 
and  he  was  very  angry,  but  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should 
be  uncomfortable,  and  although  he  could  disguise  his 
feelings  when  he  chose,  he  knew  that  here  it  was  safe  to 
allow  himself  the  luxury  of  frankness.  He  was  the  more 
annoyed,  as  what  friendship  he  was  capable  of  he  had  given 
to  Gwynne.  That  would  not  have  stayed  hand  or  foot  a 
moment,  were  his  path  in  the  least  obstructed,  but  he  re 
gretted  that  they  had  come  to  an  issue  so  eaily  in  the  game. 
Indeed,  he  had  hoped  to  manipulate  Gwynne's  destinies  so 
subtly  that  they  would  be  politically  bound  for  life,  with 
himself  always  a  length  ahead.  It  was  true  that  once  or 
twice  he  had  felt  a  misgiving  that  the  Englishman,  with 

629 


ANCESTORS 

all  his  aristocratic  disdain  for  devious  ways,  might  match 
him  and  win,  but  the  shock  of  this  early  outwitting  had 
been  none  the  less  severe. 

"Did  you  have  a  hard  time  getting  it?"  he  demanded. 

"Rather.     Never  heard  so  much  palaver  in  my  life." 

"Well,  I  wish  there  had  been  more.  I  think  I  have  at 
least  the  right  to  ask  what  you  intend  to  do  next." 

"Return  to  Judge  Leslie's  office  to-morrow — for  the 
matter  of  that,  I  have  read  a  good  deal  since  I  left.  In 
September  I  shall  have  been  a  year  in  the  State,  and  of 
course  I  can  vote.  I  am  not  so  sure  that  I  shall." 

"Yes!     That  is  all,  I  suppose  ?" 

"For  the  present.  You  are  too  good  a  politician  to 
fancy  that  American  citizenship  has  invested  me  with  a 
halo.  Except  to  a  hundred  odd  farmers,  Rosewater,  a 
small  group  in  San  Francisco,  and  a  party  boss  or  two,  I 
am  unknown.  No  doubt  I  shall  be  several  years  achieving 
sufficient  prominence  either  to  run  for  office,  or  to  ac 
complish  anything  whatever — outside  of  Rosewater.  So 
far  as  I  can  see,  this  immediate  citizenship  has  effected  two 
results  only:  I  am  now  in  a  position  to  take  advantage  of 
any  political  change  that  may  develop,  instead  of  sowing 
for  another  to  reap — and — 

He  hesitated,  and  Colton  shot  him  a  keen  glance.  "It 
has  made  a  change  in  you,  I  guess.  I  noticed  that  the 
minute  I  laid  eyes  on  you.  If  anything  was  needed  to 
make  me  madder,  it  was  that." 

"Yes — I  am  changed.  That  is  to  say,  I  am  poised. 
In  spite  of  the  determination  to  absorb  Americanism  with 
every  pore,  there  was  always  the  lurking  doubt  that  it 
wouldn't  do;  that  some  day  I  should  make  a  bolt  for  Eng 
land.  Now  the  matter  is  settled  forever.  I  not  only  am 

630 


ANCESTORS 

an  American  but  always  have  been.  The  highest  legal 
opinion  in  the  country  was  called  in,  and  that  was  what 
finally  decided  the  question.  I  accepted  it  as  literally  as 
the  others  did,  and  in  so  doing  I  relegated  my  English  life 
to  the  episodical  backwaters:  among  my  adventures  in 
India  and  Africa.  I  fancy  that  if  England  came  to  a  death 
struggle  in  my  time,  and  every  man  counted,  I  should 
fight  for  her.  I  certainly  never  should  fight  against  her. 
But  it  is  a  profound  relief  to  me  that  I  am  not  throwing  her 
over,  that  we  have  no  legitimate  right  to  each  other.  I 
fancy  that  that,  too,  demoralized  me  a  bit." 

"  How  did  you  feel  when  you  took  that  oath  ?"  asked 
Colton,  more  and  more  curious,  almost  forgetting  his  griev 
ance.  "It's  a  kind  of  solemn  oath.  I've  had  a  sort  of 
chill  when  I've  heard  it  taken  once  or  twice." 

"There  could  hardly  be  a  more  solemn  oath.  I  don't 
know  that  it  gave  me  a  chill,  but  I  certainly  read  it  over 
several  times  before  I  took  it.  And  I  took  it  without  any 
reservations." 

"Did  you  feel  an  American  the  moment  you  took  it?" 

"Yes — I  did.  That  is  to  say  I  felt  a  certain  buoyancy. 
The  die  was  cast.  There  could  be  no  more  hesitation  and 
doubt.  My  new  life  had  actually  begun." 

"It's  begun,  all  right.  Jiminy,  but  you'll  have  a  tough 
time.  They're  onto  you  now.  You  haven't  the  ghost  of  a 
chance  to  make  a  move  they  won't  see  before  your  hand  is 
off  the  board." 

Gwynne  replied  with  even  more  than  his  usual  fluency. 

"Yes,"  replied  Colton,  with  a  sigh.  "I  guess  that's 
where  we'll  all  bring  up.  But  meanwhile  ?  Are  you 
going  to  throw  me  over  ?" 

"It  will  depend  upon  yourself.     I  have  no  objection  to 

631 


ANCESTOR 5 

confide  to  you  such  plans  as  I  have  been  able  to  formulate. 
Judge  Leslie  advised  me  to  play  about  in  society,  in 
Washington,  but  I  was  in  no  humor  for  anything  of  the 
sort.  I  had  uncommon  opportunities  to  study  men  and 
conditions,  and  I  took  full  advantage  of  them.  I  doubt  if 
I  shall  vote  until  the  next  Presidential  election.  Then,  if 
an  independent  party  of  consequence  has  not  been  formed, 
and  I  see  no  prospect  of  working  up  one  in  this  State,  I  shall 
vote  the  Democratic  ticket.  As  things  stand  at  present, 
it  is  the  less  of  two  evils,  and  would  at  least  accomplish  a 
reduction  of  the  tariff,  and  something  towards  a  redistri 
bution  of  wealth.  I  haven't  the  least  doubt  that  the  Demo 
crats,  if  they  get  in — unless  they  have  a  really  good  man 
up  their  sleeve — will  abuse  their  power  quite  as  much  as  the 
Republicans  have  done;  but  that  will  take  some  time;  and 
meanwhile  a  new  party  is  sure  to  grow  up,  for  the  best  men 
in  the  country  are  thoroughly  roused.  There's  no  doubt 
on  that  point — and  it  is  a  point  you  would  do  well  to  re 
member.  There  have  been  chapters  before  in  the  world's 
history  when  right  has  paid." 

"For  a  while,"  said  Colton,  dubiously.  "The  point  is 
now  that  you  are  likely  to  join  the  Democrats." 

"To  vote  with  them.  Theirs  are  the  soundest  princi 
ples.  I  stick  to  that  point." 

"I  don't  question  it.  I  only  wish  elections  weren't  two 
years  off;  I'd  like  to  get  to  work."  He  took  a  bag  of  pea 
nuts  from  his  pocket  and  began  to  munch  thoughtfully. 
'*  But  you  are  turning  me  off.  What  do  you  mean  exactly  ?" 

"I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  machine.  I  shall 
speak  and  make  propaganda,  that  is  all.  My  object  is  not 
so  much  to  get  the  Democrats  in  as  the  Republicans  out. 
I  shall  do  nothing  to  split  the  Democratic  party — and  play 

632 


ANCESTORS 

a  losing  game — unless  a  really  great  movement  should 
rise,  gather  strength,  and  sweep  the  country.  It  is  on  the 
cards  that  there  will  be  such  a  movement,  and  I  throw 
myself  into  it  the  moment  I  am  persuaded  the  split  will  not 
work  to  the  advantage  of  the  Republicans." 

"How  much  enthusiasm  have  you  pumped  up?" 
"Enthusiasm!"  Gwynne's  eyes  roved  over  his  "fair 
domain."  Isabel,  at  least,  was  not  far  from  its  borders! 
"I  cannot  say  that  I  am  at  boiling-point,  but  I  don't  fancy 
that  matters  much.  I  have  my  work  cut  out  and  I  shall 
do  it.  Perhaps  I  shall  work  more  disinterestedly  without 
enthusiasm.  Certainly  I  shall  be  more  clear-sighted.  If 
ever  there  was  a  time  in  the  history  of  a  country  to  sink 
individual  ambition,  it  is  now." 

"Gwynne!"  said  Colton,  abruptly.  "What  in  thunder 
does  it  all  amount  to,  anyhow  ?  What  difference  does  it 
make — will  it  make  a  thousand  years  hence — that  you  and 
I  are  sitting  here  on  the  very  edge  of  creation,  solemnly  dis 
cussing  the  rottenest  subject  of  our  little  time — American 
politics  ?  What's  the  use  of  the  socialists  frothing,  and  na 
tions  trying  to  overturn  one  another  ?  I  had  rather  die  on 
the  spot  than  that  the  United  States  should  be  conquered 
for  five  minutes  by  Japan  or  any  other  Asiatic  power, 
although  I  could  endure  the  victory  of  a  people  that  I 
recognized  as  our  equals.  Why  are  instincts  planted  so 
strongly?  There  may  be  a  reason  for  a  few  years;  but 
that's  just  it,  a  few  mean  little  years  and  it  is  all  oven  What 
difference  does  anything  really  make,  so  long  as  we  are 
comfortable?  Everything  else,  every  other  instinct,  is 
artificial.  My  wife  is  a  religious  little  body  and  believes 
in  reward  and  punishment  hereafter,  that  we  must  spend 
at  least  a  certain  part  of  our  time  in  this  life  preparing  for 

633 


ANCESTORS 

the  next.  I'd  like  to  believe  the  same,  not  only  to  please 
her,  but  because  I  could  look  forward  to  meeting  my 
child  again;  but,  somehow,  I  can't.  The  present  has  al 
ways  been  about  as  much  as  I  could  tackle.  And  I  fancy 
that  when  I'm  through  with  it,  I  won't  want  any  more. 
But  although  the  present  whirls  so  fast  that  I  don't  have 
time  for  the  sort  of  thinking  intellectual  people  like  you 
and  Isabel  do,  still  it  does  sometimes  dash  across  my  mind 
— that  question:  'What  is  it  all  for?  And  why  do  we 
sweat  through  life  for  what  amounts  to  exactly  nothing 
in  the  end  ?'  " 

"You  cannot  be  sure  it  amounts  to  nothing.  Sometimes 
I  have  the  fancy  that  the  entire  round  globe  has  just  one 
inhabitant,  of  which  we  merely  appear  to  be  individual 
manifestations:  that  we  are,  in  fact,  a  part  of  the  earth 
herself,  and  she  absorbs  and  casts  us  forth  again,  as  she 
rushes  along  to  her  own  destiny  as  sentient  as  ourselves. 
All  the  planets  are  alive  in  the  same  way,  and  they  are  all 
racing  to  see  which  will  make  the  greatest  showing  on 
what  we  call  down  here  the  Judgment  Day — that  is  to  say, 
which  shall  have  produced  the  most  balanced  and  per 
fected  being;  which  shall  have  whirled  away  the  most 
original  sin  and  sifted  out  a  man,  great  and  good  without 
self-righteousness — to  my  mind  the  worst  of  mortal  failings 
because  its  correlative,  injustice,  is  the  source  of  most  of 
the  unhappiness.  That  will  be  the  millennium,  and  having 
no  windmills  and  evils  left  to  fight,  we  minute  visibilities 
will  welcome  deindividualization.  Then,  no  doubt,  there 
will  be  a  grand  final  battle  between  the  great  body  of 
good  thus  formed,  and  the  evil  cast  out,  but  roaming  space 
and  joining  forces.  If  we  do  our  best  here  we  shall  win, 
and  be  happy  ever  after.  There  is  no  question,  that  if 

634 


A      N      C       E       S       T       O       R S 

you  follow  your  higher  instincts  you  are  happier  in  the 
long  run  than  if  you  fall  a  slave  to  your  base  and  mean; 
and  that,  to  my  mind,  is  the  proof  that  the  highest  in 
stincts  are  meant  to  be  followed  to  some  greater  end." 

"Hm.  I  have  heard  a  good  many  theories,  first  and 
last,  and  that  sounds  as  plausible  as  any." 

"All  this  is  very  casually  related  to  American  politics, 
except  that  we  had  better  clean  up  when  the  opportunity 
is  vouchsafed  us;  for  nothing  degrades  human  nature  nor 
retards  civilization  so  much  as  politics  gone  altogether 
wrong.  As  far  as  you  are  concerned,  although  it  was 
understood  that  the  compact  was  to  end  with  my  citizen 
ship,  I  have  no  thought  of  ending  it  unless  the  conditions 
I  hope  for  shall  crystallize  meanwhile.  If  it  seems  best 
to  keep  the  Democratic  party  unsplit  I  shall  do  your  can 
vassing  and  speaking,  for  it  will  make  me  known,  and  give 
me  the  opportunity  to  inculcate  the  principles  I  purpose  to 
advocate.  If  you  ignore  them  when  you  are  in  office,  so 
much  the  worse  for  you,  and  better  for  me;  for,  as  I  have 
told  you  more  than  once,  the  moment  I  am  in  power  I  shall 
devote  my  energies  to  pulling  you  and  your  like  down  and 
out.  But  I  should  advise  you  to  join  the  third  party  if  it 
arises." 

"No  doubt  I  might,  if  it  were  strong  enough,"  said 
Colton, frankly.  "  I  don't  propose  to  play  any  losing  game, 
and  if  the  Democratic  party  goes  by  the  board,  T.  R. 
Colton  doesn't  follow.  And  if  a  third  party  came  in  to 
stay  it  would  have  to  have  a  boss — " 

"Not  your  sort." 

"Oh,  well,  time  enough."  Colton 's  ill-humor  was  now 
somnolent  under  some  two  pounds  of  peanuts.  He  rose 
and  shook  hands  with  Gwynne.  "Glad  to  see  you  looking 

635 


ANCESTORS 

so  well — you're  some  heavier  than  when  you  came  to 
California,  by-the-way,  and  it  suits  you  first  rate.  Be  sure 
you  call  on  my  wife  the  first  time  you  come  to  town." 

He  declined  Gwynne's  invitation  to  dinner,  and  drove 
off,  looking  slothful  and  amiable  once  more.  But  what 
went  on  behind  that  mask,  within  that  long  ill-built 
cranium,  Gwynne  had  never  pretended  to  guess.  Nor, 
to-day,  did  he  care. 

At  three  o'clock  he  gave  his  horse  to  Abe,  was  told  that 
the  lady  of  the  manor  was  out  walking,  and  went  into  the 
house.  He  had  a  fancy  to  meet  her  again  in  the  room 
that  harbored  the  sweetest  of  his  California  memories. 
It  was  dark  and  cool.  Only  one  window,  looking  upon  the 
garden,  was  open.  Beside  it  was  a  comfortable  chair 
which  he  took  possession  of  and  looked  out  into  the  wild 
old  garden  so  different  from  the  excessively  cultivated 
plots  of  Rosewater  and  his  own  meagre  strips.  There 
was  no  veranda  on  this  side  of  the  house,  and  the  great 
acacia-tree,  wTith  its  weight  of  fragrant  gold,  was  but  a  few 
feet  from  the  window.  The  entire  garden  was  enclosed 
by  a  hedge  of  the  Castilian  roses  of  which  he  had  heard  so 
much,  rare  as  they  now  were  in  California.  The  dull  green 
leaves  and  tight  little  buds  could  hardly  be  seen  for  the 
mass  of  wide  fluted  roses  of  a  deep  old-fashioned  pink. 
And  there  were  large  irregular  borders  covered  with  the 
luxuriant  green  and  the  blue  stars  of  the  periwinkle,  beds 
of  marguerites  and  violets,  bushes  of  lilac  and  honey 
suckles,  roses  and  jasmine.  The  blended  perfumes  were 
overpowering,  however  delicious;  Gwynne  had  sat  up  half 
the  night  before  talking  to  his  mother  after  a  long  hot 
journey;  he  fell  asleep. 

636 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

Perhaps  it  was  his  late  conversation,  perhaps  some 
thing  more  subtle,  but  he  felt  himself  transported  to  a 
void.  In  a  moment  he  realized  that  the  void  was  not 
space  as  he  knew  it,  but  rigid  invisible  substance.  He 
slipped  along  through  rocky  strata,  hearing  strange  echoes 
and  inhaling  the  disagreeable  odors  of  healing  waters. 
Suddenly  he  found  himself  in  a  vast  hollowed  space,  empty 
but  for  many  pillars.  His  vision  grew  keener.  In  the 
very  centre  of  the  hall  he  saw  two  pillars  of  a  colossal  size, 
and  standing  between  them  a  being  almost  as  large.  This 
unthinkable  giant  had  an  arm  about  each  pillar  and 
strained  as  Samson  had  strained  at  the  pillars  of  the 
temple.  Then  a  new  and  powerful  force  drew  him  up 
ward  once  more,  and  he  awoke. 

He  turned  his  head  towards  the  dim  interior  of  the  room 
and  for  a  dazed  moment  thought  that  he  beheld  Spring 
herself.  She  wore  white  and  had  dropped  a  mass  of  wild 
flowers  at  her  feet;  she  looked  as  if  rising  out  of  them. 
Her  hat  was  covered  with  poppies  and  wild  azalea,  and  she 
had  a  sheaf  of  buttercups  and  "blue  eyes"  in  her  belt. 

"I  haven't  changed  my  ideas  one  bit,"  she  said,  with  a 
shrug,  as  Gwynne  rose  and  came  towards  her.  "But  I 
can't  help  it!" 


IX 


ISABEL  rose  as  usual  at  five,  but,  instead  of  dressing 
at  once,  stood  at  her  window  idly  and  looked  out  over 
the  marsh.  Thirteen  hours  before  she  had  made  a  de 
cision  on  the  instant,  or  so  it  seemed  to  her,  and  in  that 
instant  changed  her  life  so  completely  that  she  was  still  a 
little  dizzy,  and  the  future  as  yet  had  taken  on  no  coherent 
form.  She  had  even  told  Gwynne  she  was  positive  she 
could  stand  him  for  ever,  and  this,  with  her  varied  if  in 
complete  knowledge  of  his  sex,  she  took  to  be  even  more 
significant  and  hopeful  than  the  uncompromising  sense  of 
loving  him.  No  doubt  there  would  be  many  interesting 
battles  before  two  such  developed  personalities  became 
more  or  less  one,  but  at  least  he  had  none  of  the  petty  and 
selfish  and  altogether  detestable  qualities  of  her  father,  her 
uncle,  and  Lyster  Stone;  and  he  was  entirely  human.  And 
he  was  young  and  she  was  young.  It  all  seemed  very 
wonderful;  wonderful  to  be  so  happy,  and  yet  to  feel  that 
she  had  relinquished  nothing,  or  at  least  not  the  tenth  of 
what  she  would  have  lost  if  she  had  married  Prestage— 
or  any  other  man.  If  she  had  not  met  Gwynne  she 
knew  that  she  never  should  have  married  at  all,  and,  not 
having  had  the  best  within  her  ken,  been  happy  enough. 

And  yet  she  was  a  little  sad,  and  it  was  by  no  means  the 
gentle  melancholy  of  reaction.  She  had  reason,  and  felt 
a  disposition  to  box  her  own  ears.  She  knew  that  Gwynne, 

638 


A_     N^ C_     E       S       T       O       R       S 

triumphant  and  happy  as  he  was,  had  ridden  away  vaguely 
dissatisfied.  He  had  turned  and  given  her  a  keen  ques 
tioning  glance  as  he  mounted,  and  had  not  turned  again. 
She  had  laughed,  and  waved  her  hand,  and  felt  a  new 
desire  to  tantalize  him. 

She  had  abandoned  herself  to  sheer  happiness  the  day 
before,  to  the  mere  pagan  delight  in  an  ardent  lover  come 
in  her  own  ardent  youth,  to  the  sense  of  an  unbroken 
circle  of  companionship,  and  to  so  wild  a  triumph  in 
having  brought  Gwynne  to  her  feet,  made  him  quite  mad 
about  her,  that  she  had  fairly  danced  about  the  room,  and 
tormented  him  as  far  as  she  dared. 

This  was  Wednesday.  They  were  to  be  married  on 
Saturday,  that  Lady  Victoria,  who  was  leaving  for  Eng 
land  in  the  evening,  might  nod  them  a  blessing.  Then, 
no  doubt,  Gwynne  would  have  his  way  in  most  things, 
and  she  already  felt  the  stirrings  of  mere  female  ductility. 
But  meanwhile  she  should  exercise  and  enjoy  her  own 
power  to  the  full.  And  she  had  good  reason  to  believe 
that  no  woman  had  ever  been  more  charming,  distracting, 
provocative.  If  Gwynne  had  been  in  love  when  he  came, 
he  had  kissed  her  very  feet  when  he  left,  and  had  been  as 
bewitched  as  anyone  so  clear-brained  could  be.  Moreover, 
she  had  promised  him  everything  he  wished,  agreed  with 
out  demur  to  the  hasty  marriage,  and  even,  when  he  asked 
her  whether  she  would  prefer  to  live  in  her  house  or  his, 
had  sweetly  left  it  to  him  to  decide.  They  were  to  spend 
the  honeymoon  in  the  house  on  Russian  Hill.  She  was 
incapable  of  looking  beyond  that.  There  had  been  at 
least  twenty  bewildering  hints  that  when  his  time  came  one 
rein,  at  least,  should  be  his — in  all  matters  of  great  mo 
ment,  two — and  although  no  doubt  she  would  break  away 

639 


ANCESTORS 

very  often,  what  more  delightful  than  to  recapture  and 
subdue  ?  What  more  could  a  man  want  than  the  most 
fascinating  woman  in  the  world,  whom  only  his  own 
passion  could  shock  from  mere  existence  into  the  fulness 
of  life  ?  But  Gwynne,  in  the  depths  of  his  swimming 
brain,  had  wanted  something  more,  and  Isabel  knew  that 
if  he  had  slept  as  ill  as  herself,  the  doubt  had  more  than 
once  assailed  him  if  she  were  anything  more  than  a  charm 
ing  beautiful  and  clever  creature,  but  perverse  and  ego 
tistical;  who  would  keep  him  distractedly  in  love  with 
her,  but  leave  the  best  part  of  him  unsatisfied. 

Her  perversity  had  gone  with  him,  and  during  a  more 
or  less  wakeful  night  she  had  repented,  and  even  wept  at 
the  thought  that  something  might  occur  to  exterminate 
him  before  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  morning — when 
they  were  to  meet  again — and  he  would  depart  unconsoled 
by  the  knowledge  that  it  was  the  greater  needs  in  his  own 
nature  that  had  called  to  hers.  At  least  she  hoped  this 
was  so,  and,  in  an  excess  of  humility,  wondered  if  she  really 
had  enough  to  give — the  power  to  insure  their  complete 
happiness.  She  had  lived  in  a  sort  of  fool's  paradise, 
and  no  doubt  imagined  herself  a  far  more  rounded  being 
than  she  was.  Well,  she  could  grow,  and  finally  she  had 
curled  down  into  her  pillow  and  fallen  asleep. 

This  morning  she  was  rather  tired,  and  although  still 
repentant,  suspicious  that  when  he  returned  her  femininity 
would  fly  up  with  her  spirits,  and  she  would  be  more  than 
content  to  fascinate  and  bewilder  him.  Like  all  women 
in  love  and  fumbling  blindly  through  the  outer  mysteries, 
she  was  eagerly  psychological,  discovering  once  for  all  her 
sex  and  herself. 

Her  eyes  had  been  fixed  dreamily  upon  Tamalpais,  but 
640 


A_     _7V_  _C £_    S     JT O     _^ S 

suddenly  they  were  drawn  irresistibly  upward  by  the  prick 
ing  consciousness  of  something  strange.  It  was  a  moment 
before  she  realized  that  she  had  never  seen  a  sky  just  like 
that  before.  Her  back  was  to  the  east,  and  although  the 
«un  was  rising  it  was  still  low;  at  this  stage  of  the  dawn 
the  sky  was  generally  gray.  This  morning  it  was  a  ghastly 
electric  blue.  And  then,  while  her  eyes  were  still  staring, 
and  something  in  her  brain  moving  towards  expression, 
she  heard  a  noise  that  sounded  like  the  roar  of  artillery 
charging  across  the  world.  She  fancied  it  rushing  through 
the  Golden  Gate  and  up  the  bays  and  marsh,  before  it 
hurled  itself  with  a  vicious  and  personal  violence  against 
the  wall  beneath  her  window.  She  braced  herself  against 
the  sash  as  the  house  shook  in  the  strongest  earthquake 
she  had  ever  felt.  It  appeared  to  be  brief,  however,  and 
she  was  turning  away  to  dress  herself,  when  it  commenced 
again  with  a  fury  and  violence  of  which  she  had  never 
dreamed  the  modern  earth  to  be  capable.  She  threw  her 
self  on  her  knees  the  better  to  grip  the  window-ledge,  but 
her  only  sensations  were  surprise  and  an  intense  expecta 
tion.  Electric  flames,  as  blue  and  ghastly  as  the  reeling 
sky,  were  playing  all  over  the  marsh,  she  saw  the  long  bare 
line  of  Tamalpais  charge  down  and  up  like  a  colossal  see 
saw;  and  in  that  terrific  plunging  and  dancing,  that  abrupt 
leaping  from  one  point  of  the  compass  to  the  opposite,  or 
towards  all  at  once,  that  hysterical  shaking  and  struggling 
as  if  two  planets  had  rushed  from  their  orbits  and  were 
fighting  for  life  in  midspace,  Isabel  expected  the  entire 
globe  to  stand  on  end,  and  was  convinced  that  the  finish 
of  California,  at  least,  had  come.  She  had  read  of  earth 
quakes  that  lasted  for  hours,  and  even  days,  and  no  doubt 
this  one  was  merely  getting  up  steam,  for  it  increased  in 

641 


A       N      C       E       S       T    _O R__S 

violence  and  momentum  every  second.  The  house  rattled 
like  a  big  dice-box.  She  expected  it  to  leap  down  the 
slope  into  the  shivering  marsh.  Pieces  of  rock  fell  down 
the  face  of  the  cliff  opposite,  but  so  great  was  the  roar  of 
the  earthquake,  so  close  the  sound  of  creaking  and  strain 
ing  timbers,  of  falling  chimneys,  and  china,  and  even 
plaster,  that  she  could  not  hear  the  impact  as  they  struck 
the  ground  and  bounded  high  in  air. 

Then,  there  was  a  bulge  of  the  earth  upward,  a  twist 
that  seemed  to  wrench  the  house  from  its  foundations,  and 
the  earthquake  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come.  Isabel 
waited  a  few  moments  for  it  to  return,  incredulous  that  the 
mighty  forces  beneath  could  compose  themselves  so  ab 
ruptly;  then  rose  and  began  to  dress  herself. 

Human  blades  of  a  fine  temper  meet  a  sudden  and 
terrific  onslaught  of  Nature  in  one  of  two  spirits:  utter 
cowardice,  or  an  attitude  of  impersonal  curiosity.  It  is 
not  a  matter  of  heroism  but  of  nerves.  The  bravest  may 
become  abject,  if  their  will  has  been  weakened  by  some 
drain  on  the  nervous  system;  others,  that  would  run  from 
a  mouse  or  prove  unequal  to  the  long-heralded  danger, 
rise,  in  the  intense  concentrated  excitement  and  surprise 
of  the  moment,  to  a  state  of  absolute  and  even  cynical  in 
difference.  One  of  the  unwritten  laws  that  has  descend 
ed  from  father  to  son  in  California  is  that  an  earthquake, 
no  matter  how  severe,  is  a  mere  joke,  and  should  incite 
prompt  and  facetious  comment.  Isabel  being  both  heroic 
and  hardy,  paid  the  California  tradition  the  tribute  of  a 
smile  and  a  shrug,  and  regretted  that  she  had  not  been  in 
San  Francisco;  she  "liked  being  in  the  midst  of  things." 
Sentiment,  psychology,  egoism,  had  literally  been  bounced 
out  of  her.  She  knew  that  Gwynne  might  easily  have 

642 


ANCESTOR S 

been  killed,  but  although  she  intended  to  find  out  in  the 
least  possible  time,  to  feel  merely  human  in  the  face  of 
such  a  stupendous  exhibition  of  what  nature  could  do 
when  she  chose,  was  a  descent  of  which  she,  at  least,  felt 
herself  incapable. 

She  hurried  on  her  riding-clothes,  dropped  her  braid  un 
der  her  jacket,  and  ran  down  the  stairs.  Chuma,  trim  and 
spotless,  was  sweeping  the  hall,  white  with  fallen  plaster. 
He  gave  her  his  usual  good-morning  grin  and  went  on 
with  his  work.  She  paused  and  regarded  him  curiously. 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  earthquakes  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  Oh,  very  big  shake."  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  Very  big 
shake." 

Vaguely  nettled  she  took  her  hat  from  the  rack  and  went 
out  by  the  back  way.  Mac  had  knocked  on  her  door 
immediately  after  the  earthquake,  and  was  now  with  Abe 
in  the  colony  on  the  hills.  He  came  running  down  when 
he  saw  her,  and  it  was  patent  that  his  rheumatism,  for 
once,  was  forgotten.  His  old  red  face  with  its  prominent 
bones  set  in  thick  sandy  gray  hair  was  more  animated 
than  Isabel  had  ever  seen  it. 

"Glory  be!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  reached  her.  "That 
was  about  the  worst!  I  was  just  tellin'  Abe  that  I  felt 
the  great  earthquake  of  '68  in  this  very  house,  in  that  very 
room,  by  gum,  although  I  was  up  and  dressed,  for  it  was 
eight  o'clock,  and  I'd  gone  back  for  my  pipe.  So,  I  know 
what  I'm  talkin'  about,  Miss  Isabel,  when  I  say  that  this 
was  about  four  times  as  bad — 

"Please  saddle  my  horse." 

"Yes,  marm.  Wisht  I  could  have  got  out  of  bed.  I'd 
like  to  have  seen  if  the  earth  rose  and  fell  in  a  long  wave 
like  the  shake  of  '68."  Land's  sakes,  but  those  chickens 

643 


ANCESTORS 

did  squawk."  And  although  he  saddled  Kaiser  rapidly, 
he  never  paused  in  his  reminiscence  of  the  last  Northern 
California  earthquake  to  pass  into  history.  "But  this 
one!  By  Jiminy!  Well,  I  guess  we  take  the  cake  in 
everything  out  here,  earthquakes  included." 

Isabel  patted  the  still  shaking  horse.  "Get  the  launch 
ready,"  she  said,  as  she  mounted;  and  Mac  nodded.  It 
was  characteristic  that  neither  thought  of  the  danger  of 
sudden  shoals,  of  the  always  possible  tidal  wave,  or  of  some 
new  and  diabolical  trick  of  nature.  The  nerves  were  still 
keyed  too  high  for  anything  so  shabby  as  prudence. 

Kaiser,  no  doubt  glad  to  put  himself  into  motion,  bound 
ed  forward  as  his  mistress  lifted  the  bridle,  and  although 
Isabel  did  give  an  occasional  glance  ahead,  to  make  sure 
the  earth  was  not  yawning,  she  never  drew  rein,  and  the 
horse  galloped  with  all  his  might  towards  Rosewater.  As 
the  marsh  narrowed  she  saw  that  the  town  was  still  there, 
and  that  there  were  no  fires.  As  she  approached  the  great 
iron  bridge  that  connected  Rosewater  with  the  continua 
tion  of  the  county  road,  a  horseman  entered  at  its  other 
end  and  galloped  across,  regardless  of  the  law  or  a  graver 
danger  still.  The  next  moment  Isabel  and  Gwynne  had 
shaken  hands  casually,  and  were  riding  towards  Old  Inn. 

His  eyes  were  shining  and  almost  black.  "I  saw  the 
mountains  rock!"  he  exclaimed.  "Rock  ?  Dance.  Then 
I  thought  they  would  plunge  down  into  the  earth  and  dis 
appear.  And  St.  Peter  is  flat.  All  the  business  district, 
including  the  four  hotels,  are  down,  and  everybody  in  them 
buried  in  the  ruins.  A  man  dashed  up  as  I  was  mounting, 
and  I  told  all  the  men  on  the  place  to  go  to  the  rescue.  The 
news  came  just  in  time  to  prevent  the  murder  of  Imura  by 
Carlos,  for  not  admitting  that  we  had  had  the  greatest 

644 


A       N      C       E       S       TORS 

earthquake  in  the  history  of  the  world.  It  was  the  first 
symptom  of  patriotic  fire  I  ever  saw  in  Imura,  but  he 
stoutly  maintained  that  in  the  matter  of  earthquakes  Japan 
could  do  as  well  as  California." 

"That  is  all  very  well,  but  I  have  read  a  lot  about  Japan 
ese  earthquakes,  and  never  of  such  an  extraordinary  one 
as  this.  Has  anything  terrible  happened  in  Rosewater  ?" 

"I  saw  a  few  chimneys  down,  but  no  buildings  except 
the  old  brick  school-house.  Mrs.  Haight  was  sitting  on 
the  curb-stone  in  her  night-gown,  wailing  like  a  banshee, 
but  although  all  the  rest  of  the  town  appeared  to  be  in  the 
streets,  and  similarly  attired,  they  were  quiet  enough.  As 
I  passed  the  cemetery  I  gave  it  a  hasty  side  glance,  half- 
afraid  of  what  I  might  see.  All  the  monuments  are  down 
and  pointing  in  every  direction.  What  gyrations!  Do 
you  suppose  they've  had  it  in  San  Francisco  ?" 

"  Do  I  suppose — much  you  know  about  our  earthquakes! 
San  Francisco  always  gets  the  worst  of  it,  or  seems  to, 
there  is  so  much  more  to  shake.  Your  mother  is  probably 
in  hysterics,  although  up  on  the  hills  one  is  safe  enough. 
It  is  the  sandy  valley  and  the  made  ground  down  by  the 
ferries — up  to  Montgomery  Street,  in  fact — that  get  the 
worst  of  it.  I  have  ordered  the  launch." 

"Good.  I  wish  my  mother  had  gone  east  from  El 
Paso,  as  she  had  half  a  mind  to  do.  But  she  wanted  to 
see  her  doctor  again.  I  am  afraid  she  won't  look  at  this 
as  we  do.  I  never  was  so  interested  in  my  life.  Was  sure, 
we  were  going  to  smash,  but  that  it  was  worth  while  in  any 
thing  so  stupendous.  I  suppose  it  is  too  early  to  telephone." 

Isabel  pointed  to  the  wires.  They  were  sagging,  and  two 
of  the  telegraph  poles  were  down.  "Doubtless  the  tracks 
are  twisted,  too.  We  are  fortunate  to  have  the  launch." 

645 


X 


MAC,  swollen  with  the  prideful  experience  which  en 
abled  him  to  compare  two  great  earthquakes,  and 
his  accumulations  of  practical  data  bearing  thereon,  ap 
peared  ten  years  younger,  and,  as  Gwynne  and  Isabel  rode 
up,  was  lording  it  over  his  fellow-hirelings.  He  had  for 
bidden  Chuma  to  make  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove  until  the 
chimney,  what  was  left  of  it,  had  been  repaired,  directed 
him  to  bring  down-stairs  the  oil-stove  Isabel  had  bought 
for  the  old  rheumatic's  comfort,  and  cook  breakfast  upon  it. 
As  even  the  stovepipe  in  the  out-building,  used  for  preparing 
the  elaborate  repasts  of  the  Leghorn,  was  twisted,  Abe  had 
been  ordered  to  drag  the  great  stove  into  the  open,  build 
a  screen  about  it,  and  "do  the  best  he  could,  and  be  thank 
ful  he  was  alive."  Poor  Abe,  who  had  not  been  extant  in 
1868,  and  had  even  missed  the  considerable  earthquakes 
of  the  Nineties,  was  in  a  somewhat  demoralized  state,  and 
wondering  audibly  what  people  supposed  he  cared  about 
chickens,  anyhow. 

Isabel  and  Gwynne  sat  down  in  the  dining-room  and  ate 
their  breakfast — on  fragments — calmly  and  methodically, 
talking  constantly  of  the  earthquake,  it  is  true,  but  in 
stinct  with  that  curious  casuistry  that  a  certain  safety  lay 
in  following  the  ordinary  routine  of  life;  perhaps — who 
knows  ? — so  great  is  the  egoism  of  the  human  spirit — that 
the  unswerving  march  of  man  in  his  groove  might  restore 
the  balance  of  nature. 

646 


A       N      C       E       S       TORS 

After  breakfast  Isabel  went  up  to  her  room  and  dressed 
hastily  and  mechanically  in  a  short  walking-suit,  as  me 
chanically  expecting  the  same  earthquake  to  return  to  the 
spot  associated  with  it.  Gwynne  wore  his  khaki  riding- 
clothes,  but  it  was  doubtful  if  any  one  would  be  critical  in 
San  Francisco  that  morning.  Nothing,  as  it  happened, 
could  have  suited  his  purpose  better,  and  it  was  long  before 
he  took  them  off. 

When  the  launch  was  under  way  Isabel  told  Gwynne  of 
the  blue  flames  that  had  danced  over  the  marsh  during 
the  convulsion.  "If  electricity  is  not  a  cause  of  earth 
quakes,  it  certainly  is  let  loose  by  them,"  she  added.  "I 
expected  every  moment  that  we  would  blow  up  and  fly 
off  into  space." 

"I  sawT  something  of  the  same  sort  on  the  hills,  and  ex 
pected  to  see  St.  Helena  spout  flames." 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  sensible  that  the  constant 
artificial  vibration  of  the  boat  was  the  most  grateful  sen 
sation  they  had  ever  known,  and  of  the  wish  that  they  could 
leave  it  only  for  a  train,  to  be  transferred  at  the  end  of  a 
long  journey  to  another  train,  and  still  another.  But 
these  sentiments  were  not  exchanged,  and  their  conver 
sation  was  purely  extrinsic.  Here  and  there  along  the 
shore  an  old  shanty  lay  on  its  side,  or  had  tumbled  forward 
to  its  knees;  but  for  the  most  part  dilapidated  chimneys 
and  fallen  poles  were  the  only  visible  symbols  of  the 
tumult  beneath  the  smiling  beautiful  earth.  Never  had 
Earth  looked  so  green,  so  velvety,  its  flowers  so  gay  and 
voluptuous.  Even  the  sky,  now  its  normal  deep  blue, 
had  this  same  velvety  quality,  the  very  atmosphere  seemed 
to  breathe  the  same  rich  satisfaction.  But  no  birds  were 
singing,  and  there  was  nothing  normal  in  the  groups  of 

647 


ANCESTORS 

people,  gathered  wherever  there  were  habitations:  they 
wore  bath-robes,  blankets,  overcoats,  anything,  apparently, 
they  had  found  at  hand,  and  had  not  re-entered  their 
treacherous  habitations.  No  trains  were  running,  but 
the  drawbridge  that  separated  the  marsh  from  San  Pablo 
Bay  opened  as  usual. 

Gwynne  steered  the  launch,  and  his  conversation  and 
Isabel's  drifted  to  speculations  as  to  what  had  happened 
in  the  city. 

"Thank  heaven  I  had  the  foundations  of  that  old  house 
replaced,"  she  said,  "or  I  am  afraid  your  mother  would 
have  shot  right  down  to  the  Hofers'  doorstep.  I  am  fairly 
at  ease  about  The  Otis,  for  in  spite  of  the  old  drifting  sand- 
lots  that  district  is  buiit  on,  its  foundations  go  down  to 
bed-rock,  and  thanks  to  the  strikers  there  is  nothing  to  fall 
off  the  steel  frame.  But  I  am  rather  worried  about  the 
islands.  San  Francisco  Bay  is  supposed  to  have  been  a 
valley  some  two  hundred  years  ago,  and  if  it  dropped 
once  it  might  again.  Those  islands  are  only  hill 
tops." 

The  islands,  however,  looked  as  serene  as  the  rest  of 
nature,  although  most  of  the  chimneys  were  fallen  or 
twisted,  and  there  were  the  same  groups  of  people  in  the 
open,  awaiting  another  throe.  These,  however,  had  had 
time  to  recover  their  balance  and  clothe  themselves. 
The  launch,  which  had  a  new  engine,  had  been  driven  at 
top  speed,  and  it  was  not  yet  seven  o'clock,  barely  the 
beginning  of  day  to  these  luxurious  people,  but  a  day  that 
would  doubtless  be  remembered  as  the  longest  of  their 
lives.  On  the  military  islands,  routine,  apparently,  had 
received  no  dislocation,  and  on  the  steep  romantic  slopes 
of  Belvedere  the  villas  might  have  sunken  their  talons 

648 


A       N      C       E       S       TORS 

to  the  very  vitals  of  the  rock.  The  most  precariously 
perched  had  paid  no  toll  but  the  chimney. 

As  the  launch  bounded  past  the  long  eastern  side  of 
Angel  Island,  Gwynne  contracted  his  eyelids.  "Have 
you  noticed  that  black  cloud  over  the  city?"  he  asked. 
"At  first  it  did  not  strike  me  particularly — but — it  looks 
as  if  there  might  be  a  big  fire." 

Isabel,  who  faced  him,  turned  her  head.  "There  are 
always  fires  in  San  Francisco  after  an  earthquake,"  she 
said,  indifferently.  "And  about  seven  a  day  at  anytime. 
There  are  none  on  the  hills,  so  your  mother  is  not  having 
a  second  fright.  Poor  thing!  I  am  afraid  she  is  terribly 
upset.  I  wish  she  had  gone." 

She  sat  about,  to  observe  the  city  more  critically.  Al 
ready  its  sky-line  was  changed,  for  every  chimney,  smoke 
stack,  and  steeple,  commonly  visible,  was  shattered  or 
down.  The  smoke  cloud,  which  looked  like  a  great  os 
trich  plume  bent  at  the  tip,  was  as  stationary  as  the  hills, 
and  had  a  confident  permanent  air  that  they  would  lack 
for  some  time.  And  fixed  as  it  was  it  seemed  to  grow 
larger. 

"Steer  to  the  east  of  Alcatraz,"  said  Isabel,  suddenly; 
"and  towards  Yerba  Buena.  I  should  like  to  see  where 
the  fires  are." 

When  the  launch  was  well  off*  the  point  of  Telegraph 
Hill,  they  saw  several  large  fires  on  the  western  side  of  East 
Street,  the  wide  roadway  that  divided  the  city  from  the 
water-front  and  Ferry  Building.  Far  down,  in  the  South 
of  Market  Street  district  there  appeared  to  be  other  large 
fires. 

"Warehouses,  probably,"  said  Isabel.  '"What  a  sight!" 
She  indicated  the  collapsed  sheds  about  the  moles,  and  the 

649 


A       N      C_  _E_  J$       T      OR     jS 

twisted  and  toppling  appearance  of  the  tower  on  the  Ferry 
Building,  which  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  made  ground. 
It  was  an  immense  structure  of  great  weight,  and  only  an 
uncommon  honesty — and  vigilance — in  building  had  saved 
it  from  destruction.  Had  the  piles  been  hollow,  or  too 
short  to  reach  bed-rock,  it  would  either  have  sunken  or 
tumbled. 

And  then  they  noticed  that  the  bay  was  silent  and 
deserted.  It  was  a  moment  before  they  realized  that  of 
the  several  lines  of  ferry-boats  none  appeared  to  be  run 
ning.  "That  means  that  the  tracks  are  out  of  working 
order,"  said  Isabel,  grimly.  "We  may  have  had  the  best 
of  it,  bad  as  it  was.  Ah!"  One  of  the  Oakland  ferry 
boats  pushed  out  of  its  San  Francisco  mole.  It  was  black 
with  people.  Isabel  stared  with  wonder.  "It  looks  as  if 
people  were  running  away  from  the  city.  Or  perhaps  a 
good  many  that  live  across  the  bay  came  over  on  the  same 
mission  as  ourselves,  and  have  been  turned  back.  That 
would  mean  that  all  East  Street  was  on  fire  and  they  could 
not  get  into  the  city.  Well,  let  us  hurry.  Even  although 
the  fires  are  so  far  off  they  may  terrify  your  mother.  I 
remember  she  told  me  once  in  England  that  she  had  never 
seen  a  fire.  I  have  a  queer  sensation  in  my  knees." 

Gwynne  laughed.  "I  should  think  you  might  be 
used  to  fires  by  this  time.  And  you  have  a  celebrated 
fire  department.  I  fancy  you  are  just  feeling  the  re 
action." 

"I  was  not  a  bit  frightened  during  the  earthquake!" 
said  Isabel,  indignantly.  "  But  there  is  nothing  phenomenal 
in  fire  to  brace  one  up — and  those  had  a  sinister  determined 
look — and  that  boat-load  of  people!  I  only  hope  your 
mother  has  not  run  away — under  the  impression  that  San 

650 


A_    N      C       E       S       T      O       R       S 

Francisco  alone  was  shaken.  We  wouldn't  find  her  for  a 
week." 

"My  mother's  nerves  are  not  what  they  were,  but  I  am 
positive  she  will  not  run.  She  is  certain  to  wait  for  us  at 
the  house." 

A  few  moments  later  they  ran  the  launch  up  to  the  land 
ing  at  the  foot  of  Russian  Hill.  There  were  a  few  tumbled 
shanties  on  the  slope,  but  none  of  the  well-built  houses  had 
been  dislodged,  and  the  great  buildings  on  this  water-front 
were  in  good  condition.  Mr.  Clatt  was  not  visible,  but 
left  his  cottage  at  Isabel's  call,  and  gave  them  something 
more  than  his  usual  surly  greeting. 

"Glad  to  see  you  are  all  right,"  he  said.  "Been  ex- 
pectin'  you.  Jest  stepped  in  to  git  my  pipe." 

"Much  damage  done?"  asked  Gwynne. 

"Considerable, but  I  guess  the  shake  '11  take  a  back  seat. 
City's  on  fire." 

"There  are  always  fires  after  earthquakes,"  said  Isabel, 
angrily. 

"  City's  on  fire.  Thirty  broke  out  s'multaneous.  Water 
main's  bust.  Chief  of  Fire  Department  killed  in  his  bed, 
or  as  good  as  killed.  There's  plenty  left  to  fight  the  fire 
but  nothin*  to  fight  it  with.  Guess  the  old  town  '11  go  up 
in  smoke  this  time." 

"My  knees  feel  rather  weak,  too,"  said  Gwynne.  He 
turned  to  the  wharfinger,  who  was  pulling  leisurely  at  his 
pipe.  "We — my  mother  and  Miss  Otis,  at  least,  may  need 
this  launch  to  leave  the  city  with,"  he  said.  "Can  I  rely 
on  you  ?  You  shall  have  a  hundred  dollars  if  you  let  no 
one  steal  it;  and  if  the  fire  should  reach  this  side,  you  are 
welcome  to  a  refuge  on  my  ranch." 

"I'll  see  daylight  through  any  one  that  looks  at  it,"  said 
41  651 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R S 

Mr.  Clatt.  "This  ain't  no  time  to  stand  on  ceremony. 
The  army's  called  out  already  to  help  the  police  keep  order 
— the  lootin'  was  disgraceful  for  about  an  hour.  Every 
rat  tumbled  out  of  his  hole,  and  of  course  they  went  for  the 
saloons.  I'm  well  enough  known  along  here  to  be  let  alone 
when  I  show  my  teeth.  Your  house  is  all  right,  miss." 

This  side  of  the  hill  was  almost  deserted;  nearly  every 
one  seemed  to  be  watching  the  fires  from  the  crest;  but 
occasionally  Gwynne  and  Isabel  passed  a  solitary  person 
clinging  to  his  possessions,  or  a  small  group;  and  invari 
ably  were  greeted  with  the  same  remark:  "City's  on 
fire.  Water  mains  were  broken  by  the  earthquake." 

As  they  passed  through  the  crowd  on  the  hill-top,  they 
received  similar  information,  although  many  added  con 
fidently  that  "something  would  be  done.  The  wind  was 
sure  to  change  to  the  west." 

And  so  far,  at  least,  the  picture  from  the  heights  was  by 
no  means  appalling.  There  were  a  number  of  fires  in  the 
south,  and  a  wall  of  flame  and  smoke  along  the  water-front 
near  the  Ferry  Building.  Had  the  earthquake  spared  the 
mains  they  would  merely  have  been  spectacular. 

Gwynne  and  Isabel,  as  they  made  the  slight  descent  to 
the  Belmont  House,  saw  two  of  their  Japs  sitting  on  the 
roof  throwing  down  the  bricks  of  the  fallen  chimneys. 
Then  they  turned  the  corner  and  found  Lady  Victoria,  an 
opera-cloak  thrown  over  her  night-clothes,  pacing  up  and 
down  the  veranda. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  did  not  dare  to 
wonder  if  you  were  dead  or  alive.  Why  did  we  ever  come 
to  this  God-forsaken  country  ?"  She  did  not  offer  to  em 
brace  them,  but  her  eyes  were  brilliant,  and  there  was  a 
color  in  her  cheeks.  And  no  one  had  ever  heard  her  talk 

652 


ANCESTOR S 

so  fast.  "Was  it  as  dreadful  with  you  ?  Did  you  get  out 
of  the  house  ?  I  was  awake  when  I  heard  that  awful  roar. 
Somehow,  I  knew  what  it  meant,  and  before  the  earth 
quake  was  well  begun  I  was  out  here.  I  never  ran  so  fast 
in  my  life,  although  I  was  flung  against  the  walls.  And 
I  almost  wished  I  had  stayed  in  the  house.  Such  a  sight! 
That  awful  reeling  city!  Just  imagine  thousands  of  build 
ings  plunging,  and  leaping,  and  dancing,  and  toppling. 
Towers  bowing  to  you  so  solemnly  that  I  almost  disgraced 
myself  and  had  hysterics.  And  steeples  pitching  off,  or 
huddling  down  like  corpses.  And  that  awful  loud  deep 
steady  roar  and  crash  of  a  thousand  4walls  and  chimneys 
falling.  And  the  dust  that  seemed  to.  swallow  the  city. 
For  a  moment  I  thought  it  had  gone,  and  expected  the  hills 
to  follow.  Then  it  rose  and  everybody  on  earth  seemed 
to  be  in  those  streets — and  in  white.  They  looked  like 
Isabel's  Leghorns.  Such  pigmies  from  up  here.  Pig 
mies!  That  is  what  we  all  are.  And  Angelique,  the 
wretch,  has  run  away." 

"Well,  she  cannot  go  far,  as  all  the  railroads  but  one 
seem  to  be  injured,"  said  Gwynne,  soothingly.  "  Better 
go  in  and  dress  and  we'll  walk  down  and  take  a  look  at 
things.  That  will  divert  your  mind." 

But  it  was  not  until  Isabel  had  assured  her  that  the 
worst  force  of  an  earth  movement  in  California  spent  itself 
in  the  first  great  shock,  and  offered  to  help  her  dress,  that 
Victoria  could  be  persuaded  to  enter  the  house.  Gwynne 
fetched  Isabel's  field-glass  and  studied  the  scene  below, 
picking  out  the  more  disastrous  work  of  the  earthquake. 
All  the  new  solid  buildings,  and  most  of  the  old,  appeared 
to  be  unharmed,  and  the  residence  district,  built  of  wood 
on  stone  foundations,  for  the  most  part,  was  much  as  usual, 

653 


A_ N_     C     ^E S_     TORS 

save  for  its  altered  sky-line:  every  chimney  and  skylight 
had  disappeared.  But  tall  slender  factory  chimneys  had 
broken  raggedly  in  half,  and  the  great  tower  of  the  City 
Hall,  standing  high  against  the  blue  sky  and  advancing 
smoke,  seemed  to  shriek  like  a  man  whose  flesh  had  been 
torn  off  with  hot  pincers  until  only  the  shamed  skeleton 
was  left.  Nothing  but  the  steel  cage  that  had  supported 
the  bricks  remained:  eloquent  of  the  millions  that  a  dis 
honest  city  government  and  its-  confederates  had  stolen. 

Gwynne,  as  his  eyes  travelled  more  precisely,  picked 
out  more  and  more  evidences  )f  the  power  of  the  earth 
quake.  Steeples  were  gone,  A  alls  fallen  outward  roofs 
caved  in,  or  yawning  where  a  heavy  chimney  had  gone 
through,  old  houses  were  on  their  knees,  or  had  fallen 
into  their  cellars.  Great  cracks  and  rifts  in  walls  and 
asphalt,  fallen  cornices  and  shattered  windows  detached 
themselves  from  the  general  picture  of  the  half-ruined  but 
oddly  indifferent  city.  Almost  immediately,  through  the 
smoke  in  the  southeast,  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  The 
Otis,  an  immense  skeleton  of  steel,  that  had  defied  the 
earth,  and  offered  nothing  to  the  fire.  But  although  he 
experienced  a  passing  gratitude  that  he  should  lose  noth 
ing  by  the  disaster,  he  forgot  the  incident  in  a  moment:  he 
felt  wholly  impersonal. 

Everybody  in  the  city,  apparently,  was  out-of-doors. 
The  squares  were  black  with  people,  quiet  crowds,  it 
would  seem,  moving  slowly  where  they  moved  at  all.  He 
saw  mounted  officers  and  parading  soldiers,  and  groups  of 
firemen  standing  impotently  by  their  hose  and  engines. 
In  the  burning  South  of  Market  Street  district  rivers  of 
people  were  pouring  towards  the  great  central  highway, 
their  arms  and  shoulders  burdened;  fleeing  no  doubt  with 

654 


A    _N_     C       E    _5 T_  _O_  _R_  _5 

their  household  goods.  Then  Gwynne  began  to  study 
the  fires,  and  it  dawned  upon  him  that  Tie  was  looking 
down  not  upon  a  mere  conflagration  but  a  burning  city. 
It  was  more  than  likely  that  the  fires  would  not  cross 
Market  Street,  and  that  those  near  the  water-front  would 
be  extinguished  by  water  pumped  from  the  bay;  but 
"South  of  Market  Street"  was  a  citv  in  itself,  and  not  only 
did  he  feel  a  certain  pit/  for  all  those  terrified  black 
pigmies  down  there,  but  ^a  pang  for  the  extinction  of  a 
region  so  identified  with  the  early  history  of  San  Francisco. 
Rincon  Hill  was  obliterated  by  the  smoke,  but  no  doubt 
she  wTould  go;  with  all  her  pretty  old-fashioned  houses,  so 
unlike  the  horrors  on  the  plateau  below  him — and  South 
Park  with  its  tragic  mempries.  Moreover,  if  all  the  fac 
tories  and  warehouses,  and  the  blocks  devoted  to  the 
wholesale  business,  wrere  destroyed,  the  city  would  be 
poorer  by  many  millions. 

He  shifted  his  glass  away  from  the  fires.  More  and 
more  details  arrested  his  eye.  Inert  forms  were  being 
carried  out  of  houses  where  chimneys  or  skylights  had 
gone  through  the  roof.  Automobiles  were  flying  about, 
hundreds  of  them.  Mounted  orderlies  were  dashing  at 
breakneck  speed  between  the  Presidio  and  the  city.  For 
a  moment  he  wondered,  then  remembered  that  General 
Funston  lived  on  Nob  Hill.  He  inferred  that  the  Me 
chanics'  Fair  Building,  down  in  the  western  section  of  the 
valley,  had  been  turned  into  a  hospital,  for  automobiles 
were  constantly  dashing  up  and  delivering  limp  and  help 
less  burdens.  The  old  Mission  Church,  Dolores,  was  un 
harmed,  but  not  far  away,  and  in  that  crowded  district 
built  upon  the  filled-in  lake,  or  lagoon,  of  the  Spanish  era, 
he  saw  that  a  large  building,  doubtless  a  cheap  and  flimsy 

655 


ANCESTORS 

hotel,  had  sunken  to  its  upper  story,  and  that  people  were 
digging  franticaiy  about  it.  Every  house  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood  had  dropped  into  its  cellar  or  lurched  off 
its  foundations.  But  it  was  all  like  some  horrid  picture 
by  Dore:  the  smoky  darkening  atmosphere,  the  jets,  the 
bouquets,  the  square  masses  of  flame,  each  seeming  to 
embrace  a  block  if  not  more,  the  dark  slowly  rolling  clouds 
not  far  overhead,  the  tides  of  humanity  dwarfed  by  the 
distance,  the  broken  dislocated  houses,  the  great  haughty 
defiant  buildings,  with  the  superb  conflagration  behind 
them. 

One  of  the  neighbors,  who  lived  on  the  crest,  returning 
from  a  reconnoitring  expedition,  paused  and  informed 
him  that  the  mayor  had  been  persuaded  to  call  a  meet 
ing  of  the  more  prominent  citizens,  to  decide,  if  possible, 
what  might  be  done  to  save  the  city,  and  to  keep  the  peo 
ple  from  falling  into  a  panic.  Mr.  Phelan,  the  "Reform 
Mayor" — of  the  city's  last  period  of  municipal  decency- 
had  suggested  sending  to  the  military  islands  for  dynamite 
enough  to  blow  up  a  wide  zone  beyond  the  fire;  but  prop 
erty-owners  were  already  protesting.  Many  felt  sure  the 
fire  would  not  cross  Market  Street,  others  were  as  certain 
that  the  whole  city  would  go.  A  corps  of  marines  had 
been  despatched  from  Mare  Island  immediately  after  the 
earthquake  and  would  undoubtedly  save  the  Ferry  Build 
ing  and  the  docks,  but  if  the  fire  ran  over  from  Market 
Street  a  few  blocks  higher  up,  nothing  could  save  all  that 
great  business,  shopping,  and  hotel  district;  to  say  noth 
ing  of  Chinatown,  and  possibly  these  hills.  All  South  of 
Market  Street  was  in  motion,  making  for  the  ferries  or  the 
bare  western  hills,  the  Presidio  and  Park;  they  must  an 
swer  for  many  of  the  fires,  as  they  had  not  given  a  thought 

656 


ANCESTORS 

to  cracked  chimneys  when  they  wanted  their  breakfast; 
but  of  course  crossed  wires  and  the  overhead  trolley  system 
were  responsible  for  as  many  more.  Then  he  advised 
Gwynne  to  order  that  all  the  bath-tubs  in  the  house  should 
be  filled  with  what  water  was  left  in  the  pipes,  and  that  a 
stock  of  provisions  from  the  neighboring  grocer  and  butcher 
should  be  laid  in.  "Personally  I  don't  believe  the  fire  will 
ever  come  as  far  as  this,"  he  said.  "But  there'll  be  a 
famine,  no  doubt  of  that.  The  wires  are  all  down,  scarcely 
a  train  is  running,  the  country  may  be  as  hard  hit  as  our 
selves — and  all  that  crowd  down  there  to  feed!" 

Gwynne  thanked  him  and  replied  that  the  launch  was 
in  waiting;  but  when  the  man  had  gone  he  called  the  Japs, 
gave  them  money,  and  ordered  them  to  follow  his  neigh 
bor's  suggestion.  He  realized  that  he  had  no  desire  to 
leave  this  city  where  life  was  suddenly  keyed  to  its  highest 
pitch,  and  retire  to  the  security  and  inaction  of  the  country. 
Moreover,  he  recalled  the  promise  he  had  given  Hofer 
and  his  other  friends  on  the  night  of  the  ball :  this  might  be 
the  emergency,  and  what  services  he  could  render  should 
be  given  freely  enough. 

Lady  Victoria  and  Isabel  came  forth,  and  they  all  made 
their  way  rapidly  down  to  Nob  Hill.  The  stair  was  more 
rickety  than  ever,  and  many  of  the  older  houses  they 
passed  looked  badly  shaken  within,  if  not  without — every 
door  wras  open.  The  floors  were  covered  with  plaster; 
more  often  than  not  the  furniture  and  ornaments,  and  even 
mantels,  were  massed  in  an  indistinguishable  heap.  The 
Hofers'  door,  like  the  rest,  was  open,  and  they  saw  that 
the  spiral  marble  stair  was  a  pile  of  glittering  splinters 
and  that  the  pictures  had  been  turned  completely  round  or 
flung  across  the  hall.  Mrs.  Hofer  had  been  too  eager  to 

657 


ANCESTORS 

reign  on  Nob  Hill  to  wait  for  a  new  foundation.  Several 
of  the  servants  were  sitting  on  the  steps,  and  informed 
Gwynne  that  all  the  family,  including  the  children,  had 
gone  out  in  two  automobiles  an  hour  before,  to  see  the 
city. 

They  walked  down  the  hill,  stopped  many  times  by 
returning  citizens  anxious  to  impart  information.  The 
Italians  on  Telegraph  Hill  were  mad  with  terror:  "they 
were  no  Californians,"  in  accents  of  bitter  contempt. 
Portsmouth  Square  was  full  of  Chinamen  laughing  at  the 
women  that  had  run  there  from  the  hotels  without  shoes 
on  their  feet,  and  only  an  opera  or  automobile  cloak 
over  their  night-clothes.  Even  more  amused  were  those 
Oriental  philosophers  at  the  white  scared  faces  of  the 
prisoners  clinging  to  the  bars  of  the  jail.  Nobody  could 
tell  how  many  people  had  been  killed  by  falling  roofs  and 
walls,  although  the  wildest  stones  were  current,  but  so  far 
there  were  more  doctors  and  nurses  attending  to  business 
than  patients  to  care  for.  Down  in  *he  Mechanics'  Fair 
Building,  which  had  been  converted  into  an  emergency 
hospital,  they  were  working  as  methodically,  with  book 
and  pencil,  as  well  as  with  bandage  and  instrument,  as  if 
earthquake  and  fire  were  a  part  of  the  daily  routine. 
"Almost  everybody  was  quiet,  but  there  were  sights  down 
there,  Oh,  Lord,  there  were  sights!"  One  man  button 
holed  Gwynne,  as  he  had  button-holed  others  on  his  ascent, 
and  informed  him  that  he  had  "got  down  there"  just  in 
time  to  see  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  go  up 
in  smoke.  "Two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
and  it  has  taken  me  twenty  years  to  make  it!"  he  reiterated, 
with  an  excited  bitterness  that  was  almost  hilarious.  He 
did  not  ask  Gwynne  if  he  had  lost  anything,  but  passed  on 

658 


ANCESTORS 

to  button-hole  the  next  man  and  pour  out  his  tale  of  in 
dividual  protest;  upon  him  the  earthquake  and  fire  had 
made  a  personal  attack. 

"How  strange  it  seems  to  be  in  the  midst  of  so  much 
life — mere  physical  life,"  said  Lady  Victoria.  "A  whole 
city  tense  and  helpless!  I  wonder  that  man  could  think 
of  himself.  We  are  all  mere  fragments  of  one  great 
whole." 

Her  eyes  were  still  restless  and  bright,  her  mask  had 
fallen,  and  with  it,  curiously,  many  of  her  years.  For  a 
time,  at  least,  the  heavy  burden  of  self  had  slipped  from 
her  tired  spirit. 

Few  stood  in  the  doorways,  or  even  gardens;  nearly 
every  one  not  exploring  the  city  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
street.  In  the  boarding-house  district,  half-way  down  the 
hill,  the  corners  were  crowded  with  people  watching  the 
fires,  although  as  many  more  had  gone  to  the  heights  to 
command  a  better  view.  Some  were  still  dazed  and  white 
with  terror,  a  few  looked  distraught;  more  than  one  man 
was  as  nervous  as  his  wife.  But  the  majority  were  calm, 
although  they  wore  an  expression  of  being  ready  for  any 
thing.  A  few,  mindful  of  the  California  tradition,  were 
joking  and  relating  the  absurdities  of  their  experience. 
There  wras  no  question  that  the  shock  had  been  far  greater 
in  the  city  than  in  and  about  Rosewater,  and  both  Isabel 
and  Gwynne,  to  Lady  Victoria's  disgust,  expressed  a  regret 
that  they  "had  missed  anything."  But  it  was  possible 
that  the  convulsion  had  been  even  worse  elsewhere.  St. 
Peter  was  built  over  a  known  fault,  and  San  Francisco 
was  not;  and  indeed  news  was  already  coming  into  the 
city  of  coast  hamlets  that  had  literally  been  torn  to  pieces. 
Other  wild  rumors  were  flying  about.  New  York  had 

659 


ANCESTOR       S 

disappeared.  Chicago  had  been  swept  by  a  tidal  wave. 
As  the  telegraph  wires  were  all  down  no  one  attempted  to 
account  for  these  items  of  news,  but  so  much  had  already 
happened  that  if  the  eastern  hemisphere  had  dropped  to 
the  level  of  Atlantis,  no  one  would  have  stared. 

When  they  reached  Union  Square  they  found  it  so 
crowded  that  they  hardly  could  make  their  way.  Not 
only  the  guests  of  the  St.  Francis  Hotel,  that  flanked  it, 
had  taken  refuge  in  the  open,  but  those  of  many  other 
hotels.  A  few  of  the  men  were  still  in  pyjamas,  and  of  the 
women  in  dressing-gown  or  opera-cloak,  caught  up  as  they 
fled.  But  the  majority  had  ventured  back  and  dressed 
themselves,  so  that  the  "sights"  were  not  what  they  may 
have  been  an  hour  earlier.  But  no  one  seemed  to  care  for 
shelter;  at  all  events  they  liked  companionship  in  misery, 
although  few  besides  the  foreign  members  of  the  Grand 
Opera  Company  were  voluble.  Gwynne  and  Victoria  and 
Isabel  saw  many  of  their  acquaintance,  not  all  recogniz 
able  at  first,  for  even  those  that  had  returned  to  their 
rooms  to  dress  themselves  had  taken  little  pains  with  their 
hair.  One  woman  of  great  beauty,  however,  whose  hus 
band's  hat  surmounted  her  flowing  locks,  was  just  inform 
ing  Isabel  that  she  had  reached  that  frame  of  mind  where 
vanity  was  pressing  apprehension  to  the  wall,  when  there 
was  an  explosive  sound,  another  as  of  rushing  wings,  the 
crowd  stumbled  against  one  another,  and  the  large  build 
ings  about  the  square  rocked.  Again  there  was  an  exodus, 
and  some  clutching  and  gasping;  but  only  a  few  of  the 
refugees  from  the  burning  district,  sitting  on  the  furniture 
they  had  dragged  with  them,  screamed.  It  was  over  in  a 
few  seconds,  and  then  Gwynne  pressed  his  women  gently 
out  of  the  crowd  and  down,  through  the  tide  of  refugees,  to 

660 


A       N      C       E       S       T      O       R S 

Market  Street.  They  walked  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  for 
the  sidewalks  in  this  business  district,  where  many  of  the 
buildings  were  of  brick  or  stone,  were  littered  with  the 
debris  of  fallen  cornice  and  shattered  windows  and  chim 
neys.  Market  Street  was  kept  open  for  automobiles,  and 
the  crossing  refugees;  the  spectators  stood  on  the  edge 
of  the  northern  pavement  only,  and  in  some  cases  on  the 
top  of  bricks  that  represented  an  outer  wall.  A  number 
of  the  refugees  were  marching  towards  the  ferries,  although 
a  curtain  of  smoke  bounded  the  lower  end  of  Market  Street. 
Others  were  moving  stolidly  towards  the  western  hills. 
All  were  burdened  with  pillow-cases  packed  with  clothing, 
or  dragged  trunks,  cribs,  baby-carriages,  in  which  was  a 
strange  assortment  of  utensils,  children,  and  household 
pets.  The  scrape,  scrape  of  these  unwieldy  objects  could 
be  heard  in  a  monotonous  reiteration  above  the  distant 
roar  and  crackling  of  the  flames.  Behind  the  tide  of 
humanity  rolling  in  from  the  burning  district,  at  the  end 
of  every  street,  was  a  vista  of  flame  and  smoke.  And 
the  dark  clouds  were  mounting  higher  and  higher,  lit 
with  a  million  golden  sparks.  The  temperature  was 
tropical. 

People  were  already  beginning  to  talk  in  phrases: 
The  doomed  city.  The  fire  zone.  Razed  to  the  ground. 
Brains  were  not  active,  and  any  one  energetic  enough  to 
put  a  few  expressive  words  together  was  sure  of  disciples. 
Here,  more  than  elsewhere,  it  was  apparent  that  the  army 
was  in  possession  of  the  city.  Mounted  officers  rode 
slowly  up  and  down,  and  at  the  mouth  of  each  of  those 
dusky  and  menacing  avenues  was  a  guard  with  drawn 
bayonets.  They  permitted  the  unfortunate  to  emerge, 
but  few  to  enter.  In  spite  of  the  audible  energy  of  the 

66 1 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O R_     S 

fire,  the  slow  tramp  of  the  refugees,  the  scraping  of  their 
furniture  on  the  ill-paved  streets,  the  city  was  extraordina 
rily  silent.  People  scarcely  spoke  above  a  mutter.  There 
was  no  shouting  of  orders.  Even  the  children  were  not 
whimpering,  the  tawdry  women  were  not  hysterical,  not  a 
parrot  raised  his  voice  nor  a  dog  whined  Faces  were 
dazed,  blank,  imprinted  with  a  stolid  determination  to 
get  to  a  place  of  safety  and  keep  families  and  belong 
ings  together.  The  present  moment  was  as  much  as 
they  could  grasp,  and  truth  to  tell  there  was  a  good 
deal  in  it. 

Some  of  the  sightseers  speculated  mildly — those  that 
owned  no  property  in  this  district — as  to  what  would 
happen  if  the  wind  drove  the  fire  much  farther  north.  The 
opposite  side  of  the  street  was  lined  with  some  of  the 
greatest  business  houses  in  the  city.  The  Palace  Hotel 
looked  like  the  rock  of  Gibraltar.  Not  a  vase  in  its  court 
had  been  overturned,  some  one  said.  The  other  buildings 
were  of  stone,  brick,  concrete.  They  had  stood  the  earth 
quake;  even  the  great  square  tower  of  the  Call  Building, 
unsupported  by  other  buildings,  had  barely  lost  a  cornice. 
Was  it  possible  that  the  fire  would  take  them  ?  But  the 
fire  was  rolling  nearer  every  moment,  for  it  met  little  to 
resist  it  but  wood.  Down  by  East  Street  several  of  the 
Market  Street  buildings  were  blazing.  But  no  doubt  the 
marines  would  extinguish  those,  and  surely  that  sea  of 
flame  would  break  and  retreat  before  the  wall  of  rock 
opposite;  and  behind  it  were  other  structures  of  stone  and 
brick  and  concrete.  Now  and  then  a  refugee,  permitting 
his  attention  to  be  drawn  from  his  own  little  affairs,  told 
that  the  back  windows  of  these  buildings  were  already  hung 
with  wet  blankets,  and  that  people  stood  by  the  cisterns 

662 


A      N      C       E    _^ T_     O       R^  J> 

on  the  roofs,  hose  in  hand.  But  the  South  of  Market 
Street  fraternity  shook  a  united  head,  and  when  the  new 
phrase,  The  doomed  city,  was  wafted  into  its  dull  ears,  it 
adopted  it  promptly,  and  marched  on  muttering  it  over 
and  over. 


XI 


ALREADY  a  number  of  automobiles  had  flown  by, 
1\  some  filled  with  people  anxious  to  leave  town  before 
it  might  be  too  late,  but  most  of  them  containing  surgeons 
and  their  assistants,  or  relays  of  firemen,  alone  permitted 
to  enter  the  burning  district;  or  prominent  men  bound  for 
the  citizens'  meeting  to  be  held  in  the  cellar  of  the  old  jail 
in  Portsmouth  Square,  a  site  upon  which  their  ancestors 
had  gambled  and  Jenny  Lind  had  sung.  Gwynne,  who 
was  already  beginning  to  chafe  at  inaction,  to  feel  the  ex 
cited  blood  shake  his  pulses,  was  revolving  excuses  to  send 
his  mother  and  Isabel  home,  when  an  automobile  came 
charging  down  Market  Street  at  a  terrific  rate  of  speed. 
From  some  distance  he  recognized  Hofer  sitting  beside  the 
chauffeur.  Not  in  the  least  considering  his  act,  he  stepped 
in  front  of  the  crowd  and  made  a  signal.  Hofer  responded 
with  a  shout,  the  automobile  slowed  slightly,  two  men 
stood  up  and  clutched  Gwynne,  dragging  him  into  the 
machine.  Gwynne's  long  legs  flew  backward  as  if  he 
were  plunging  head  first  over  an  embankment,  and  he  had 
only  time  to  right  himself,  turn  and  shout  "Go  home," 
before  the  automobile  had  regained  its  speed  and  was  out 
of  sight. 

Victoria  turned  to  Isabel  with  wide  eyes.  "  It  looked  like 
kidnapping!"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  fancy  they  merely  want  him  at  the  citizens'  meeting. 
664 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

No  doubt  they  want  every  steady  clear  brain  they  can 
muster.  I  think  I  had  better  go  out  and  see  what  has  be 
come  of  Paula  and  the  children.  Will  you  come  ?" 

Victoria  shook  her  head.  "This  is  all  too  interesting/' 
she  said.  "I  must  see  more  of  it,  and  I  am  no  longer 
afraid.  When  I  am  tired  I  will  go  home.  Shall  we  agree 
to  meet  there  for  luncheon  ?" 

Isabel  nodded  and  started  up  Stockton  Street  alone,  in 
tending  to  take  the  first  car  that  led  in  her  sister's  direction. 
Some  of  the  trolley  wires  were  down,  but  no  doubt  others 
were  uninjured,  and  the  cable-cars  had  always  seemed  to 
her  as  fixed  as  fate.  She  could  no  more  conceive  of  their 
system  being  dislocated  for  more  than  an  hour  at  a  time 
than  of  the  city  burning.  So  far  she  was  merely  interested, 
and  although  sorry  for  the  unfortunate  poor,  felt  that  the 
fates  had  conspired  to  do  the  city  a  service  in  cleaning  out 
so  objectionable  a  quarter.  Of  the  millions  invested  in  that 
district  she  did  not  think,  but  sighed  as  she  thought  of 
South  Park  and  Rincon  Hill.  Still,  they  would  have  been 
obliterated  in  the  course  of  events  and  before  long;  and 
as  for  the  fire  itself  it  would  be  stopped  by  the  great  walls 
of  masonry  on  and  near  Market  Street.  She  looked 
eastward  down  the  deserted  streets  towards  the  bay,  and 
although  the  vista  there  also  was  closed  with  flame  and 
smoke,  the  fires  were  far  away,  and  the  marines  were 
fighting  it. 

She  passed  many  people  ascending  and  descending,  some 
with  pressed  lips,  others  arguing  with  a  certain  fettered 
excitement  against  the  pessimistic  attitude.  After  she 
left  the  business  blocks  the  sidewalks  again  were  free  of 
debris,  although  she  could  see  the  ruin  within.  The  dis 
reputable  section  of  this  street,  known  as  the  "Red  light 

665 


A       N       C_     E       S      T       O       R       S 

district,"  was  crowded  with  women,  to  whose  rescue  or 
comfort  no  man  would  seem  to  have  come.  Isabel  looked 
at  them  with  an  irresistible  curiosity,  but  no  sense  of  re 
pulsion;  she  even  stopped  and  answered  their  eager  ques 
tions  as  best  she  could.  She  was  possessed  with  the  idea 
that  there  was  but  one  person  in  San  Francisco  that  day, 
no  matter  what  the  optical  delusion.  She  was  not  at  all 
dazed,  but  utterly  impersonal. 

Even  in  the  blazing  sunshine  most  of  these  women  were 
handsome,  and  young.  But  all  assurance  was  gone; 
when  not  strained  and  haggard  from  the  recent  and  the 
menacing  terror,  they  looked  indescribably  forlorn.  But 
they  were  very  quiet.  Isabel  heard  but  one  excited  cry, 
and  something  of  its  thrill  ran  along  her  own  nerves. 
"My  God!  The  wind  is  blowing  from  the  southeast  and 
it's  blowing  strong!" 

Isabel  glanced  back.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  great 
suspended  waves  of  smoke,  red-lined,  were  rolling  with 
more  energy,  and  they  certainly  were  inclining  west  as  well 
as  north.  She  wondered,  with  some  irritation,  why  the 
wind  blew  from  the  southeast  when  the  first  of  the  trades 
should  be  roaring  in  from  the  Pacific.  A  strong  steady 
west  wind  and  the  fire  would  be  blown  towards  the  bay, 
where  it  could  be  extinguished  from  the  marine  boats. 
Every  time  a  gust  ruffled  her  hair  she  shook  her  head 
irritably,  wondering  that  she  had  ever  loved  the  wind. 

She  reached  California  Street.  The  cars  were  not  run 
ning.  Far  down  where  they  should  have  started  she  saw 
nothing  but  smoke.  Nor  was  there  the  usual  rumble  in 
dicating  that  the  cable  was  at  work,  a  sound  which  was 
among  the  first  of  her  memories.  She  turned  west  and 
climbed  the  almost  perpendicular  blocks  to  the  summit  of 

666 


ANCESTORS 

Nob  Hill.  The  beautiful  massive  pile  of  white  stone,  to 
be  known  when  finished  as  Fairmont  Hotel,  and  which 
had  already  done  so  much  to  redeem  the  city  from  its 
architectural  madness,  looked  as  serene  and  unravaged 
as  if  it  crowned  a  hill  of  ancient  Athens;  but  so,  for 
that  matter,  did  its  neighbors,  two  as  faultless  in  their 
way;  the  others  appearing  even  more  outrageous  than 
usual,  inasmuch  as  they  had  had  their  opportunity  to 
disappear  and  failed  to  take  advantage  of  it. 

From  the  summit  of  the  hill  Isabel  gave  a  hasty  glance 
southward,  then  walked  rapidly  west;  the  fires  seemed  to 
cover  far  more  ground  than  when  she  had  first  looked  at 
them  from  Russian  Hill,  an  hour  ago. 

After  she  had  tripped  over  two  large  paving-stones  that 
had  met  in  an  upward  bulge,  she  took  more  note  of  detail. 
Some  of  the  houses  had  private  cisterns,  and  their  roofs  and 
walls  were  still  quite  wet.  Pretentious  garden  walls,  and 
stone  pillars  supporting  facades,  had  fallen,  while  next 
door  an  apparently  more  delicate  structure  was  intact.  It 
seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  foundation.  And  everywhere 
there  were  groups  of  silent  people  watching  the  fire.  Even 
when  the  Red  Cross  men  and  women  carried  out  the  in 
jured,  Isabel  did  not  hear  a  groan.  And  all  were  losing 
their  dazed  and  frightened  expressions.  The  careless  phi 
losophy  of  the  city  was  reasserting  itself,  although  in  a 
more  dignified  phase. 

At  Van  Ness  Avenue,  the  wide  street  that  runs  through 
the  residence  part  of  the  city  from  north  to  south,  Isabel 
shuddered  for  the  first  time,  and,  as  she  was  ashamed  to 
run  across,  stood  and  stared  with  a  new  sense  of  fascination 
at  the  inexplicable  old  earth.  The  street  lay  in  a  narrow 
valley,  what  would  have  been  a  mere  canon  in  the  moun^ 

667 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

tains,  and  the  soil  was  loose  and  sandy,  although  the  great 
houses  sat  upon  most  of  the  brief  level  and  held  it  firm. 
But  the  stone  blocks  in  low  garden  walls  were  bulging  and 
broken,  and  the  street  itself  was  horribly  torn.  Here 
and  there  it  had  sunken,  and  looked  as  if  a  wave  had 
passed  over  it  and  left  an  impress.  A  large  stone  church 
had  fallen,  one  tower  into  the  street  and  another  upon  the 
neighboring  house.  The  stone  walls  of  houses  were  crack 
ed;  one  of  the  "mansions"  had  a  zigzag  crevice  from  top 
to  bottom. 

And  the  proudest  had  brought  forth  chairs  and  were 
sitting  in  their  gardens  or  on  the  pavement.  Isabel  rec 
ognized  a  girl  who  had  been  one  of  the  belles  of  Mrs. 
Hofer's  ball,  clad  in  a  bath-gown  and  a  pair  of  socks,  and 
another,  noted  for  her  gowns,  passed  in  a  wagon,  a  hand 
kerchief  tied  about  her  head  and  a  half-filled  pillow-case 
on  her  lap.  Isabel  knew  that  both  had  lived  in  one  of  the 
beautiful  private  hotels  on  the  avenue,  and  she  had  already 
heard  that  it  was  so  badly  wrecked  that  the  guests  had  been 
thankful  to  get  out  alive  and  had  not  ventured  to  return 
for  their  clothes.  The  stately  building  had  been  run  up  in 
a  night,  its  feet  set  in  sand,  and  the  wonder  was  it  was  not 
lying  across  the  avenue. 

Many  of  the  refugees  had  already  reached  this  third 
and  last  wide  street  of  refuge,  and  although  the  greater 
number  were  still  down  at  the  southern  end,  others  had 
pushed  on,  intending  to  walk  to  the  Presidio,  where  they 
were  likely  to  be  fed.  They  were  resting  on  their  cum 
brous  belongings,  strange  groups,  unkempt  and  half 
dressed.  Many  of  the  householders  had  sent  within  for 
food,  and  one  wealthy  dame,  whose  maid  had  had  time 
to  build  her  coiffure  and  groom  her  properly,  sat  with  a 

668 


ANCESTORS 

dirty  frowsy  baby  on  her  lap  and  was  coaxing  it  to  take 
milk  from  a  spoon,  its  bottle  having  been  overlooked  in  the 
flight.  The  mother  was  sitting  on  the  bureau  her  husband 
had  rescued,  by  no  means  abashed,  nor  even  surprised. 

Isabel  crossed  the  street  and  ascended  and  descended 
again,  traversed  several  blocks  to  the  north,  and  finally 
approached  the  house  in  which  the  Stones  had  their  apart 
ment.  Although  high-perched,  it  was  uninjured,  and  as 
Isabel  climbed  the  hill  she  saw  Paula  and  her  children 
seated,  with  many  others,  on  the  long  flight  of  steps. 
Paula  waved  her  hand  and  walked  down  composedly  to 
meet  her  sister.  She  was  dressed,  laced,  and  painted.  A 
sufficient  time  had  elapsed  since  the  earthquake  to  permit 
her  ruling  passion  to  regain  its  throne. 

"Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you!"  She  greeted  Isabel  with 
something  of  the  grand  air.  She  felt  almost  pompous 
with  the  sense  of  playing  her  part  in  a  great  event,  fancied 
herself,  perhaps,  its  central  figure.  "Of  course,  I  knew 
you  were  all  right  up  there,  especially  as  we  came  off* 
fairly  well.  But  you  should  have  been  here.  You've 
missed  it!" 

"I  know,"  said  Isabel,  humbly.  "But  I  am  glad  you 
were  not  hurt.  And  not  frightened  ?" 

"Oh,  fearfully.  And  being  up  so  many  flights  of  stairs 
made  it  seem  so  much  worse.  But  Lyster  and  I  managed 
to  get  out  of  bed  and  into  the  nursery  before  it  was  half 
over,  and  hold  the  children  in  the  doorways.  I  didn't  make 
a  fool  of  myself  like  so  many  others,  and  run  out  in  the 
street  before  I  was  dressed;  my  hair  was  up  on  pins.  Lys 
was  more  frightened  than  I  was — it's  a  wonder  he  has  any 
nerves  at  all — and  now  that  there  are  so  many  fires  he  is 
fearful!"  excited  at  the  idea  that  all  his  favorite  haunts  may 

669 


A_  _N       C     JL       S T_     O       K^    _S 

go.  He  has  gone  down-town  to  see  what  is  happening — 
also,"  in  a  happy  afterthought,  "to  try  and  borrow  some 
money.  He  literally  had  not  ten  cents  in  his  pocket.  We 
have  some  in  the  bank  for  a  wonder,  but  everybody  says 
the  banks  wil?  go,  and  also  that  there  will  be  hard  times.'* 

Isabel  handed  over  her  purse  mechanically.  "Victoria 
and  Elton  have  plenty,  I  shall  not  need  it,"  she  said.  But 
the  desire  to  save  Mrs.  Stone's  feelings  was  superfluous. 
The  purse  disappeared  with  a  polite  "Thanks,  dear,"  and 
Paula  hastily  changed  the  subject,  lest  the  luxury  of  a 
carriage  for  the  return  to  Russian  Hill  should  appeal  to 
Isabel.  "Of  course  you'll  go  back  to  the  ranch  where 
you  can  be  comfortable,"  she  remarked. 

"I  have  no  plan.  The  launch  is  ready  for  us,  but  it  will 
depend  upon  the  others.  Should  you  care  to  go  to  the 
ranch  ?  I  don't  suppose  you  are  in  any  danger  from  fire, 
out  here,  but  things  may  be  very  uncomfortable  for  a 
time." 

"Oh,  I'll  take  the  risk,"  said  Paula,  easily.  "I  should 
be  bored  to  death  up  there,  and  here  there  are  so  many 
people  to  talk  to.  I  have  heard  about  fifty  experiences  this 
morning,  and  all  fearfully  interesting.  I  guess  we'll  mak* 
out.  It  will  only  be  for  a  day  or  two  anyhow,  and  every 
body  that  has  food  in  the  house  is  offering  to  share  with  the 
rest.  I  never  have  much  on  hand,  but  Mrs.  Brooks,  who 
lives  under  me,  always  keeps  her  store-room  filled,  and  has 
invited  me  to  lunch.  You  had  better  stop,  too." 

"I  have  promised  Victoria  to  return.  Just  suppose  the 
fire  should  come  out  here,  what  should  you  do  ?" 

"Oh,  take  a  mattress  or  two  out  to  the  Presidio.  It's 
not  far,  and  would  be  a  regular  picnic.  But  it  won't." 

"Well,  I'll  go,  then.     If  you  change  your  mind  you  can 
670 


•*L-     N       C       E       $       T       O       R       S 

have  the  launch.  Only  come  to  me  first.  Mr.  Clatt  is 
standing  over  it  with  a  six-shooter." 

"Thanks.  Sorry  you  won't  come  in.  Lys  won't  sit 
down  for  about  a  week,  he's  that  nervous,  so  you'll  proba 
bly  see  him  up  on  the  Hill." 

Isabel  started  for  home,  and  when  she  reached  Fillmore 
Street  discovered  that  she  was  tired.  It  was  then  that  she 
regretted  not  having  reserved  a  dollar  or  two;  but  no  doubt 
Victoria  was  at  home  by  this  time.  She  found  a  livery- 
stable,  and  asked  the  proprietor,  lounging  in  the  entrance, 
if  he  could  send  her  to  the  foot  of  her  bluff. 

"Yes,  for  fifty  dollars,"  he  said,  coolly.  Fillmore  Street 
was  a  prosperous  slum,  another  brief  level  between  two 
steep  acclivities.  It  was  not  yet  aware  of  the  proud  destiny 
that  awaited  it,  that  for  the  next  year  or  more  it  was  to  be 
the  teeming  centre  of  the  abbreviated  city's  life,  but  there 
never  was  a  time  when  it  was  burdened  with  manners, 
or  the  grand  point  of  view.  When  Isabel  stared,  the  man 
continued:  "Yes,  ma'am!  Fifty's  the  ticket.  And  two 
hours  later  it  may  be  five  hundred.  Some  people  are  get 
ting  mighty  nervous,  and  I've  let  five  hacks  and  buggies 
already,  at  my  own  figure,  to  them  as  wants  to  get  out  of 
town  quick." 

Isabel  turned  her  back  on  him,  and  climbed  and  descend 
ed  again.  Lower  Van  Ness  Avenue  was  even  more  torn 
and  lumpy  than  where  she  had  crossed  it  at  California 
Street,  and  hundreds  of  the  South  of  Market  Street  ref 
ugees  were  sitting  or  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  worn 
out  but  stolid.  Just  beyond,  she  caught  up  with  a  team 
ster,  who,  noticing  the  fatigue  in  her  eyes,  stopped  his 
horses  and  offered  her  a  "lift,"  provided  she  was  "going 
his  way." 


XII 


HPHE  teamster  had  deposited  her  at  Taylor  and  Jackson 
1  streets,  and  as  she  passed  the  Trennahans'  door  it 
occurred  to  her  to  ask  how  they  fared.  The  house  ap 
peared  to  be  uninjured,  but  the  ^ictiic  bell  was  useless, 
and  it  was  not  until  she  had  knocked  several  times  that  an 
old  Mexican  servant  answered  the  summons.  Then  she 
learned  that  the  family  had  left  for  Menlo  Park  in  their 
touring  car  immediately  after  the  earthquake,  as  the  boys 
were  at  the  country-house  with  their  tutor.  The  woman 
had  been  maid  for  many  years  to  Mrs.  Polk  and  had  lived 
with  Magdalena  since  her  aunt's  death.  She  was  a  priv 
ileged  character,  and  during  Isabel's  visit  had  accepted 
her  relationship  to  the  house  of  Yorba  and  waited  on  her 
personally. 

"So  tired  you  look,"  she  said.  "Come  in,  no  ?"  Then, 
as  the  invitation  was  declined,  she  leaned  her  stout  shape 
less  figure  against  the  door-frame  and  begged  Isabel  for 
an  account  of  her  experience.  Isabel  gave  it  briefly,  and 
the  old  woman  shook  her  head.  "So  terreeblay  thing!" 
she  sighed.  "Seventy  years  I  live  in  California  and  this 
the  more  bad  earthquake  I  never  feel.  My  mother  she 
feel  the  great  earthquake  of  1812  in  the  south,  when  the 
padres  plant  a  long  straight  branch  in  the  middle  of  the 
square  of  San  Gabriel,  and  it  never  stop  shake  for  four 
months.  Ay  yi,  California!  I  theenk  we  all  go  into  the 

674 


A      N      C       E       S      T      0       R       S 

bay  this  morning,  and  I  fall  down  twice  when  I  run  to  see 
how  little  Senorita  Inez  she  feeling.  Ay  yi!" 

"Why  did  you  not  go  to  the  country  ?" 

"And  who  take  care  the  house?  The  car  come  back 
bime-by  for  the  other  servants,  but  I  no  go.  Si,  I  can  go 
in  the  train — then — perhaps.  But  no  in  automobilia.  Is 
devil,  no  less." 

"Well,  if  you  should  be  frightened  come  up  to  me," 
and  Isabel  went  on  hurriedly  to  her  own  home,  suddenly 
reminded  of  the  uncertainty  of  her  relative's  nerves.  But 
Victoria  was  standing  on  the  porch  staring  outward  with 
such  an  intensity  of  gaze  that  she  took  no  notice  of  Isabel's 
approach.  And  when  Isabel  reached  her  side,  she  too 
stood  silent  for  a  time.  The  Call  Building  was  on  fire. 
This  square  tower  of  seventeen  stories  and  a  dome,  with 
some  seventy  windows  on  each  side,  had  caught  fire  at  the 
top,  and  as  the  flames  devoured  the  contents  of  one  floor  as 
quickly  as  possible  that  they  might  dart  down  another 
flight  and  gorge  themselves  anew,  in  an  incredibly  short 
time  the  two  hundred  windows  in  sight,  and  no  doubt 
those  in  the  rear,  were  spouting  flames  like  the  mouths 
of  so  many  cannon:  each  sharply  defined,  owing  to  the 
indestructible  nature  of  the  walls.  Volumes  of  white 
smoke  poured  upward  to  be  lost  in  the  black  clouds 
above.  At  times  the  fire  and  smoke,  on  either  side,  torn 
by  the  wind,  seemed  to  dance  and  gyrate  in  a  Bacchana 
lian  revel,  taking  monstrous  forms,  that  exploded  in  show 
ers  of  sparks,  glittering  like  the  fabled  California  sands. 
Above  the  burning  district  the  smoke  clouds  changed 
form  constantly.  Sometimes  they  reeled  along  like  colos 
sal  water-spouts.  The  roar  of  the  fire  waxed  louder  as 
one  listened  to  it:  a  deep  persistent  energetic  roar,  as 

675 


A_  _^__c_  _^__^_Ji  Ji R s 

of  a  sea  climbing  over  a  land  its  time  had  come  to  de 
vour. 

Suddenly  a  curtain  of  smoke  swept  down  and  obliterated 
the  scene,  conveying  a  sense  of  respite,  challenging  the 
memory,  although  a  moment  later  it  was  shot  with  a 
million  sparks. 

Victoria  announced  briefly  that  they  were  to  have  lunch 
of  a  sort,  but  for  her  part  she  would  prefer  a  bath. 

A  bath,  however,  was  out  of  the  question,  and,  without 
washing  the  cinders  from  their  faces  and  hands,  they  sat 
down  to  beefsteak  fried  on  one  of  the  oil-stoves  used  for 
heating  the  Mansard  story,  and  canned  vegetables.  That 
much  indulgence  they  might  have  permitted  themselves, 
but  human  nature  is  prone  to  extremes,  and  they  were 
tuned  to  a  severe  economy  that  might  embrace  more  than 
water  for  some  weeks  to  come. 

Isabel  sent  a  plate  of  sandwiches  and  a  bottle  of  beer 
down  to  Mr.  Clatt,  and  the  servant  returned  with  the  in 
formation  that  the  faithful  wharfinger  was  sitting  on  a 
chair  in  front  of  the  launch,  a  pistol  on  his  lap;  and  that 
already  a  small  crowd  was  crouched  like  buzzards  in  front 
of  him.  Isabel  asked  Victoria  if  she  cared  to  retreat,  but 
the  older  woman  shook  her  head. 

"Do you?"  she  asked. 

"Oh  no.  I  shall  remain  until  the  last  minute,  certainly 
until  I  know  what  Elton's  plans  are.  If  the  launch  is 
seized  we  can  go  down  to  Fort  Mason  or  out  to  the  Presidio. 
Every  one  is  in  the  same  boat.  I  should  hate  being  too 
comfortable.  But  I  don't  think  you  should  sleep  out-of- 
doors.  It  is  always  damp  at  night." 

"I  can  stand  as  much  as  you  can.  I  am  quite  fit  again. 
And  this  is  the  first  time,  for  heaven  knows  how  many  years, 

676 


A    _N^     C       E       S       T    _O       R_  _S 

that  anything  has  interested  me.  I  shall  stay  till  the  last 
minute;  and  surely  no  fire  could  climb  this  hill.  Did  I  tell 
you  that  Mr.  Trennahan  came  up  at  once  and  asked  me  to 
go  to  Menlo  Park  with  them  ?  Ungrateful — but  I  have 
not  thought  of  it  since." 

Isabel  announced  her  intention  to  take  a  nap.  "No 
one  knows  what  may  happen  to-night,"  she  said.  "And 
I  feel  as  if  I  had  not  slept  for  a  week." 

She  fell  asleep  at  once.  Lady  Victoria  awakened  her 
by  bursting  unceremoniously  into  her  room. 

"You  must  get  up  and  look!"  she  cried.  "The  Palace 
Hotel  and  the  other  big  newspaper  buildings  are  on  fire. 
The  sight  is  something  awful — and  wonderful." 

Isabel  ran  to  the  window.  All  the  valley  was  a  rolling 
sea  of  flame,  and  all  space  seemed  to  be  filled  with  enor 
mous  surging  billows  of  smoke.  From  every  window  of 
the  Palace  Hotel,  an  immense  square  building  of  some 
seven  stories,  from  the  great  newspaper  buildings,  and 
from  other  brick  and  stone  structures  near  by,  tongues  of 
flame  were  leaping;  the  wooden  buildings  were  mere  shape 
less  furnaces.  Again  a  volume  of  smoke  descended,  and 
for  the  moment  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  a  red  blur  some 
where  in  the  midst  of  rolling  black. 

Victoria  communicated  to  Isabel  the  information  she  had 
received  from  the  neighbors,  always  coming  and  going. 
People  were  pouring  out  of  the  city,  not  only  by  the  South 
ern  Pacific  boats  to  Oakland,  and  indirectly  to  Berkeley 
and  Alameda,  but  by  freight-boats  and  launches  to  the 
Marin  towns.  They  were  obliged  to  make  a  long  detour 
round  the  base  of  the  northern  hills,  as  the  water-front 
and  the  streets  behind  were  a  roaring  furnace,  although  the 
fires  had  not  crossed  East  Street.  All  houses  in  the  towns 

677 


4-  N    c    E  — L  T    °    R  ^ 

across  the  bay  had  opened  to  the  refugees,  tents  had  been 
erected  in  the  public  squares,  and  emergency  hospitals  had 
been  stacted  before  nine  o'clock.  The  militia  had  been 
called  out  to  assist  the  regulars,  and  also  the  Cadet  Battal 
ion  of  the  State  University.  A  Citizens'  Patrol  had  been 
formed  to  protect  the  still  unburned  districts,  each  man 
provided  with  arms  at  the  Presidio.  People  on  the  lower 
slopes  were  now  in  full  flight  towards  the  western  parks 
and  hills,  as  well  as  the  Presidio,  many  being  under  the 
impression  that  the  ferry-boats  were  not  running.  It  was 
doubtful  if  a  hotel  or  a  boarding-house  would  harbor  a 
soul  that  night;  not  east  of  Van  Ness  Avenue,  at  least,  and 
many  in  that  region  were  preparing  to  sleep  in  the  Park 
and  squares,  lest  the  fire  attack  them  from  the  south.  Ref 
ugees,  exhausted,  were  lying  on  the  doorsteps  and  in  the 
streets  of  the  Western  Addition. 

Victoria  relapsed  into  silence  and  Isabel  gazed  down 
upon  the  beautiful  terrible  scene — the  curtair.  had  rolled 
upward  again — at  the  enormous  tongues  of  flame  leaping 
from  every  window,  the  showers  of  golden  sparks,  the 
swooping  and  soaring  clouds,  many  of  them  white,  with 
convoluted  edges,  and  faintly  tinted  like  the  day  smoke  of 
Vesuvius.  These  curled  white  masses  rolled  among  the 
black  waves  towards  the  west,  and  the  low  deep  roar  waxed 
louder  as  one  listened  to  it. 

All  the  wooden  bow-windows  of  the  Palace  Hotel  had 
been  eaten  ofF,  but  it  would  be  hours  before  the  stoutly  built 
old  hotel  ceased  to  feed  the  flames.  Sometimes  sheets  of 
fire  seemed  to  drive  from  the  apertures  across  the  great 
width  of  Market  Street,  to  be  beaten  back  by  a  solid  wall 
of  flame.  In  the  intense  clear  yellow  light  that  bathed  the 
street  Isabel  could  see  the  twisted  car  tracks.  More  than 

678 


ANCESTOR S 

once  she  fancied  she  saw  a  prostrate  body,  but  it  may  have 
been  an  achievement  of  the  shifting  flames,  and  certainly 
nothing  living  moved  down  there.  The  mounted  officers 
and  their  men  were  patrolling  the  blocks  along  all  the 
northern  front  of  the  fire. 

"Are  you  not  in  the  least  worried  about  Elton  ?"  asked 
Isabel,  abruptly. 

"Not  a  bit.  I  never  worried  about  him  when  he  was  a 
child.  He  was  always  the  most  agile  and  ready  youngster 
I  ever  saw." 

"But  he  is  very  venturesome.  He  might  be  caught  in 
one  of  those  furnaces  as  well  as  another,  or  killed  by  falling 
bricks." 

"He  is  a  man  of  destiny,"  said  Victoria  indifferently. 
'He  will  live  to  accomplish  what  he  was  born  for." 

Isabel,  in  truth,  found  worry  as  impossible  as  any  other 
common  emotion,  nevertheless  thought  it  odd  that  he  did 
not  come  to  them  for  a  moment  or  send  a  message.  She 
could  appreciate  his  wholly  masculine  mood,  his  tempo 
rary  indifference  to  the  charms  of  her  sex,  but  he  had  an 
ingrained  sense  of  responsibility,  and  was  more  considerate 
than  the  average  man. 

Lady  Victoria  returned  to  her  vantage-point  on  the 
veranda,  and  Isabel  went  down  to  the  garden  fence  where 
the  three  Japs  were  standing,  and  asked  them  if  they  in 
tended  to  remain — half  the  servants  had  already  fled  from 
the  city.  Two  replied  that  later  in  the  day  they  should 
go  to  Oakland  where  they  had  friends.  Isabel  told  them 
that  she  should  not  part  with  what  little  money  there 
was  in  the  house,  and  they  answered  politely  that  they 
expected  to  wait  for  their  wages.  The  oldest  of  the 
three,  a  respectable  man  of  thirty,  who  looked  like,  and 

679 


ANCESTORS 

no  doubt  was,  a  student,  announced  his  intention  to  re 
main. 

"I  can  cook,"  he  added.  "Not  well,  but  perhaps  well 
enough  for  a  few  days.  And  perhaps  if  we  are  driven  out 
I  may  go  to  the  country  with  you.  I  should  be  willing  to 
work  for  anything  you  could  pay  me  until  things  were  re 
stored  to  their  normal  condition — if  you  would  be  good 
enough  to  give  me  my  evenings  for  study." 

Isabel  promised  him  the  protection  of  her  ranch-house, 
and  stood  talking  to  him  for  some  time.  His  English  was 
unusually  correct  and  his  remarks  were  more  intelligent 
than  those  of  the  average  man  of  her  acquaintance.  He 
told  her  something  of  Japanese  earthquakes,  and  was  good 
enough  to  add  that  he  had  never  felt  quite  so  violent  or  so 
peculiar  a  series  of  earth  movements  as  California  had 
achieved  that  morning.  He  was  curious  to  see  the  result 
as  recorded  on  the  seismograph,  and  to  know  at  what  hour 
it  registered  in  Japan. 

"I  think  Professor  Omori  will  come  over,"  he  said, 
modestly.  "This  earthquake  will  interest  him  very  much. 
He  will  wish  co  study  the  ground." 

"Were  you  not  frightened  ?"  asked  Isabel,  curiously. 
"I  appreciated  the  danger,  but  frightened — no,  miss,  I 
think  I  have  never  felt  frightened.  But  I  do  not  like  fire. 
I  have  seen  Tokio  burn.  I  shall  walk  about  constantly 
and  see  that  it  does  not  steal  upon  us  from  the  north  or 
west.  Some  silly  person  might  make  a  fire,  and  all  the 
chimneys  must  be  cracked." 

"I  feel  much  relieved  to  know  that  you  will  patrol,"  said 
Isabel,  wondering  if  she  were  being  gracious  to  a  prince. 
"Would  you  mind  going  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill  and  ask 
ing  some  one  if  he  knows  whether  all  the  injured  were 

680 


A       N      C     _E_  _5 T_     O     _R S 

taken  from  the  Mechanics'  Pavilion  ?  It  is  blazing  like 
a  wood  pile." 

He  went  up  the  hill  and  returned  with  the  information 
that  all  the  patients,  as  well  as  the  doctors  and  nurses,  had 
been  taken  out,  the  last  of  them  while  the  roof  was  blazing, 
and  conveyed  in  automobiles  to  other  emergency  hospitals 
far  away;  and  that  the  prisoners  in  the  City  Hall  had  been 
transported,  manacled,  to  the  army  prisons  in  the  same 
manner. 

"One  of  the  gentlemen  said  he  saw  Mr.  Gwynne  run 
ning  an  automobile  full  of  nurses  and  patients — one  of 
Mr.  Hofer's  machines/'  he  added.  "And  that  he  returned 
twice  at  least.  All  the  young  men  that  own  machines  are 
acting  very  well,  they  say,  transporting  the  injured,  and 
making  themselves  generally  useful.  Many  are  on  the 
roofs  of  the  greater  buildings  with  the  firemen  fighting 
the  fire  with  blankets,  and  hose  attached  to  the  cisterns. 
A  few  buildings  have  been  saved  in  that  way,  but  not 
many,  and  more  or  less  of  the  water  has  to  be  turned  on 
the  men,  who  catch  fire  repeatedly  from  the  sparks." 

Isabel  went  into  the  house  and  put  on  her  hat.  "I  can 
not  keep  still  any  longer,"  she  said  to  Victoria,  a  moment 
later.  "And  now  I  am  quite  rested.  I  shall  go  down 
and  see  Mrs.  Hofer,  and  reconnoitre  for  myself.  If  Elton 
should  come,  ask  him  to  wait  for  me  here — he  must  need 
a  rest — or  walk  down  Taylor  Street." 


XIII 

SHE  found  her  lower  neighbors  still  sitting  on  their 
doorsteps  or  standing  in  groups,  but  was  told  that 
many  more  had  already  gone  out  to  the  Western  Addition 
with  their  valuables,  fearing  that  the  fire  might  come  up 
the  southern  or  eastern  slopss  before  night.  A  large 
touring  car  was  standing  in  front  of  the  Hofers*  door.  The 
children  and  their  nurses  were  in  it,  and  Mr.  Toole  came 
out  and  took  his  place  as  Isabel  reached  the  house.  He 
greeted  her  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  known  him 
without  a  smile;  and  he  looked  very  old  and  sad.  Isabel 
heard  Mrs.  Hofer's  light  high  rapid  voice  within.  She 
was  standing  in  the  large  drawing-room,  giving  orders  to  a 
group  of  servants.  When  she  saw  Isabel  she  cried  out  as 
if  confronted  with  a  ghost. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  but  not  kissing  her  as  usual;  her 
mind  apparently  was  divided  into  many  parts.  "I  am 
relieved  to  see  that  you  are  all  right.  I  didn't  know  what 
might  have  happened  up  State.  Did  you  ever?  Well! 
— Great  old  country  this.  Talk  about  living  on  the 
side  of  Vesuvius.  And  now  everything  is  going,  every 
thing!" 

"I  keep  hoping  for  a  change  of  wind." 

"Perhaps,  but  I've  pretty  well  given  it  up.  We  are  in 
disgrace  to-day,  sure  enough.  And  anyhow  Mr.  Hofer 
has  lost  millions,  millions!  However —  She  recovered 

682 


A       N      C       E       S      T       O       R       S 

herself  with  a  bound.  "He  made  them,  so  I  guess  he 
can  make  more.  And  do  you  know  what  he's  thinking 
about  already?  He  burst  in  here  half  an  hour  ago — as 
black  as  your  hat — with  orders  that  I  should  take  the 
family  down  to  Burlingame  at  once,  and  then  began  talking 
about  the  Burnham  plans,  and  the  opportunity  to  clean  up 
the  city  politically.  There's  a  raging  idealist  for  you.  And 
do  you  know  what  he  and  Mr.  Gwynne  are  up  to  now  ? 
Carrying  dynamite,  no  less,  between  Fort  Mason  and  the 
fire  line.  The  two  of  them  are  running  an  automobile 
apiece  and  have  put  themselves  at  the  disposal  of  the 
authorities.  Nice  thing  for  me  to  be  thinking  of  all  night. 
Don't  you  want  to  come  along  ?" 

Isabel  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  I'll  move  on  then — before  they  change  their  minds 
and  impress  my  car.  So  far  I  have  a  gracious  permit  to 
keep  it.  The  servants  have  buried  the  silver  and  the 
pictures,  but — "  She  glanced  at  the  beautiful  frieze, 
which,  without  its  electric  lights,  looked  a  mere  blur  of 
blue  and  black,  then  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  just 
won't  believe  my  house  will  go,"  she  said,  defiantly;  "not 
till  the  last  minute,  anyhow.  When  the  fire's  over,  or 
Mr.  Hofer  lets  me,  I'll  come  back  and  do  something  for 
those  poor  wretches  that  have  been  burned  out.  Gather 
up  what  food  there  is  to  be  had  in  the  country,  and  start 
an  eating  station  or  something.  Mr.  Hofer  says  food  will 
come  pouring  in  from  every  direction  presently,  and  then 
they  will  need  organizers.  I'm  good  at  that.  Can  I  rely 
on  you  ?  It  will  be  an  experience,  anyhow;  and  of  course 
it's  my  place  to  do  that  sort  of  thing.  Besides,  I  do  feel 
terribly  sorry  for  those  poor  things,  and  I  won't  be  able 
to  sit  still  for  a  month." 

683 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

"You  can  count  on  me.  When  this  is  over  I  shall  find 
you  somehow." 

"Oh,  don't  worry.  The  newspapers  won't  miss  any 
thing.  They're  burned  out,  but  I  hear  that  the  editors 
are  already  over  in  Oakland  scurrying  round  after  a  plant. 
Well,  adios.  If  you  say  the  word  I'll  send  the  car  back  for 
you — although  I  doubt  if  it  would  pass  a  squad  without 
those  children  in  it.  I  suppose  it  would  hold  several  tons 
of  dynamite!  Heigh-ho,  I  suppose  it  is  all  in  the  day's 
work.  What  can  you  expect  if  you  live  in  an  earthquake 
country  ?"  They  had  reached  the  pavement  and  she  put 
her  lips  close  to  Isabel's  ear.  "I'd  like  to  get  out  of  the 
damned  place  and  never  see  it  again,'*  she  whispered. 
"I'll  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  but  those  are  my  sentiments 
and  I  guess  I  have  company." 

She  stepped  lightly  into  the  car,  nodded  with  a  grim 
gayety,  and  in  another  moment  had  disappeared  round  the 
corner  of  Taylor  and  California  streets. 

Isabel  started  down  the  hill,  and  almost  immediately 
met  Anne  Montgomery.  She  had  not  recognized  her  as 
they  approached  each  other,  for  the  glare  was  in  her  eyes; 
but  Miss  Montgomery  ran  forward  and  kissed  her. 

"What  on  earth  did  you  come  to  this  God-forsaken 
place  for,  when  you  had  the  country  to  stay  in  ?"  she  de 
manded.  "Oh,  Lady  Victoria  ?  I  did  not  know  she  was 
here.  Just  come  with  me  and  look  at  a  sight." 

She  put  her  arm  through  Isabel's  and  led  her  rapidly  for 
several  blocks  along  California  Street,  then  down  Hyde 
towards  moving  columns  of  people.  The  fire  was  far 
south  of  these  refugees  as  yet,  but  they  looked  down  every 
cross  street  and  saw  it;  and  more  than  once  during  their 
slow  flight  they  had  seen  the  soldiers  at  the  visible  end  of 

684 


ANCESTORS 

each  long  vista  move  a  block  farther  north.  "I  tramped 
a  long  way  with  them,"  said  Miss  Montgomery,  "carrying 
things  for  a  woman  I  never  saw  before.  Then  a  man  took 
the  burden  over  and  I  started  up  the  hill  to  see  how  some 
friends  were  faring." 

From  this  point  they  could  hear  the  roar  and  crackle  of 
the  fire  and  the  crashing  of  walls;  but  even  more  formidable 
was  that  tramping  of  thousands  of  feet,  the  scraping  of 
trunks  and  furniture  on  the  tracks  and  stones.  Isabel, 
still  feeling  like  a  palimpsest,  lingered  for  an  hour  looking 
at  these  refugees.  They  were  vastly  different,  in  all  but 
their  impotence,  from  those  of  the  early  morning.  Hun 
dreds  \vere  from  the  "boarding-house  district";  others 
were  householders;  a  large  number,  no  doubt,  owned 
their  carriages  or  automobiles,  but  those  had  been  im 
pressed  long  since.  It  was  a  well  and  a  carefully  dressed 
crowd,  for  by  this  time  nearly  every  one  had  recovered 
from  the  shock  of  the  earthquake;  many  forgotten  it,  no 
doubt,  in  the  new  horror.  They  had  not  the  blank  ex 
pression  of  the  poor,  dazed  by  the  second  calamity  follow 
ing  so  close  upon  the  heels  of  the  first,  but  their  lips  were 
pressed,  eyes  were  straining  towards  the  distant  goal,  and 
all  would  have  been  pale  but  for  the  glare  of  the  fire. 
Fortunately  for  most  of  them,  men  as  well  as  women, 
they  had  either  children,  pets,  or  even  more  cumbersome 
belongings  to  claim  their  immediate  attention;  no  time  for 
either  thought  or  despair.  They  pushed  trunks  to  which 
skates  had  been  attached,  or  pulled  them  by  ropes;  they 
trundled  sewing-machines  and  pieces  of  small  furniture, 
laden  with  bundles.  Many  carried  pillow-cases,  into 
which  they  had  stuffed  a  favorite  dress  and  hat,  an  extra 
pair  of  boots  and  a  change  of  underclothing,  some  valuable 

685 


ANCESTORS 

bibelot  or  bundle  of  documents;  to  say  nothing  of  their 
jewels  and  what  food  they  could  lay  hands  on.  Several 
women  wore  their  furs,  as  an  easier  way  of  saving  them, 
and  children  carried  their  dolls.  Their  state  of  mind  was 
elemental.  They  lived  acutely  in  the  present  moment 
and  looked  neither  behind  nor  before — save  to  a  goal  of 
safety.  Misfortune  had  descended  upon  them,  and  ruin 
no  doubt  would  follow,  but  for  the  present  they  asked  no 
more  than  to  save  what  they  could  carry  or  propel,  and  to 
get  far  beyond  that  awful  fire.  The  refinements  of  senti 
ment  and  all  complexity  were  forgotten;  they  indulged  in 
nothing  so  futile  as  complaint,  nor  even  conversation.  And 
the  sense  of  the  common  calamity  sustained  them,  no 
doubt,  deindividualized  them  for  the  hour.  Soon  after  they 
became  their  normal  selves  once  more,  and  accepted  the 
hard  conditions  of  the  following  weeks  with  the  philosophy 
that  was  to  be  expected  of  them.  But  underneath  all  the 
recovered  gayety  and  defiant  pride  of  the  later  time  more 
than  one  spirit  was  sprained,  haunted  with  a  sense  of 
dislocation,  permanently  saddened  by  the  loss  not  of 
fortune  but  of  personal  treasures,  of  old  homes  full  of 
life-long  associations,  never  to  be  replaced  nor  regained. 
Many  no  doubt  were  better  off  for  losing  those  old  an 
chors  that  held  them  to  the  past  and  emphasized  their 
years,  besides  keeping  their  sorrows  green,  but  others  had 
one  reason  less  for  living.  Nevertheless  the  philosophy 
born  of  a  lifetime  in  an  earthquake  country,  of  the  electric 
climate,  of  their  isolation,  as  well  as  the  good  Anglo-Saxon 
strain  in  so  many  of  them,  brought  a  genuine  rebound  to  all 
physically  capable  of  it,  both  old  and  young.  But  to-day 
they  were  primitive — and  entirely  human.  They  helped 
one  another,  the  stronger  carrying  theweaker's  burdens  as 

686 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

a  matter  of  course.  The  men  were  bent  almost  double 
with  increasing  properties. 

Isabel  felt  neither  pity  nor  admiration  for  them;  they 
were  a  mere  unit,  these  thousands  reduced  to  their  primal 
component,  the  third  fact  in  the  great  day  of  facts. 

Suddenly,  however,  she  caught  sight  of  Lyster  Stone. 
He  carried  a  baby  on  one  arm  and  several  rolls  of  painted 
canvas  under  the  other.  Beside  him  walked  the  mother 
pushing  a  loaded  crib;  and  behind  him  the  artist  friend, 
to  whose  aid  he  had  evidently  gone,  dragged  a  large  canvas 
trunk  bound  with  an  ingenious  system  of  ropes.  Stone 
nodded  gayly  when  he  saw  Isabel. 

"Hallo!'*  he  cried.  "I  was  going  for  you  later  on. 
We'll  all  sleep  out  to-night.  Better  come  along."  Then 
as  Isabel  only  shook  her  head  he  said,  hurriedly;  "Aw 
fully  sorry  I  forgot — promised  Gwynne  Fd  go  up  and  tell 
you  he  was  in  for  a  long  day's  work — transporting  hospi 
tal  patients  and  hauling  dynamite.  He  sent  peremptory 
orders  that  you  and  his  mother  were  to  go  to  the  country 
with  the  afternoon  tide." 

The  crowd  bore  him  on  and  Isabel  and  Anne  walked 
up  the  hill  again,  meeting  other  streams  of  refugees,  but 
thinner,  as  most  of  them  preferred  the  easier  slopes. 
Isabel  looked  at  Anne  curiously.  There  was  an  unusual 
restlessness  about  her,  nothing  of  the  rudimentary  ex 
pression  of  the  crowd.  Isabel  was  wondering  if  her  ap 
parent  and  unusual  spirits  might  be  due  to  the  fact  that  her 
flat  was  in  the  Western  Addition,  and  that  she  had  hired 
a  wagon  at  the  first  alarm  of  fire  and  carried  her  silver  to 
the  Presidio,  when  Anne  suddenly  began  to  explain  herself. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  broke  out,  "I  have  a  wonderful 
sense  of  freedom! — of — of — hope.  Something  has  hap- 

687 


A_     N       C      E    _S_    T    J9 R_     S 

pened  at  last.  All  the  ruts  have  been  ploughed  over. 
Life  will  never  be  the  same  here,  in  my  time  at  least.  It 
will  be  like  beginning  all  over  again,  with  a  hundred  barely 
imagined  possibilities  and  an  equal  chance  for  every  one. 
It  may  be  a  reprehensible  thing — to  feel  as  if  the  destruc 
tion  of  your  city  had  set  your  individual  soul  free — but  I  do, 
and  that's  the  end  of  it.  And  I  can  tell  you  I've  seen  that 
expression  in  the  eyes  of  many  a  man  in  the  last  few  hours. 
Not  in  those  of  the  older  men,  perhaps,  for  they  wear  out 
early  enough  in  this  climate,  anyhow,  and  those  that  are 
close  upon  sixty  don't  look  as  if  they  had  much  left  to  live 
for — although  I've  seen  a  few  flying  about  as  if  they  had 
dropped  thirty  years;  its  all  a  matter  of  temperament  and 
physique.  But  for  the  rest  of  us!  The  still  energetic 
men,  and  the  women  that  have  been  cankered  with  the 
tedium  vitae,  and  have  the  brains  and  brawn  to  work. 
It  will  be  the  Fifties  all  over  again — not  only  something 
more  than  a  bare  living  in  prospect,  but  a  constant,  exciting, 
interest  in  life.  I  saw  a  good  many  men,  just  after  the 
earthquake,  looking  as  if  they  had  believed  the  end  of  the 
world  had  come,  but  they  braced  up  directly  the  city  was 
threatened  by  something  they  could  pit  themselves  against. 
Every  man  worth  his  salt  is  fighting  fire,  rescuing  the  help 
less,  dragging  mattresses  out  to  the  hills  and  Park,  and 
helping  the  women  down  here  save  their  belongings.  All 
with  automobiles  and  carriages  are  helping  the  authorities 
and  hospitals.  Political  factions  and  personal  enemies  are 
working  side  by  side,  particularly  down  on  the  fire  line. 
Even  the  mayor  has  won  a  day's  respect  from  his  fellow- 
citizens,  although  I'm  told  he's  terribly  torn  between  the 
Committee  of  Fifty  and  the  military  authorities  on  the  one 
hand, who  want  to  blow  up  a  wide  zone,  and  the  property^ 

688 


A       NCESTORS 

holders  who  won't  have  their  precious  possessions  sacrificed 
when  the  wind  may  change  any  minute.  Meanwhile  the 
fire  has  a  headway  that  will  give  it  the  best  part  of  the  city. 
I  never  felt  so  alive  in  my  life;  so  vividly  in  the  present. 
Can  you  remember  the  name  of  a  book  you  have  read,  that 
there  is  any  world  outside  these  seven  square  miles  ?" 

"  Yesterday  is  a  mere  dream  and  to-morrow  is  only  a 
bare  possibility!  The  Fifties!  I  feel  as  if  we  were  at  the 
beginning  of  things  on  another  planet.  I  shall  never 
trouble  my  head  with  problems  or  psychology  again.  We 
are  mere  dancing  midgets  on  the  scalp  of  stupendous  forces 
that  we  do  not  even  dimly  apprehend.  Earth  lets  us  play 
until  her  patience  is  exhausted  with  our  pretentions  as 
mere  human  beings,  at  our  insane  delusion  that  the  in 
tellectual  are  not  only  the  equal  but  the  superior  of  the 
physical  forces;  and  then  she  merely  shakes  herself,  and 
the  wisest  is  as  helpless  as  the  idiot,  the  prince  even  worse 
off  than  the  pauper  because  he  has  a  bigger  house  to  run 
out  of.  They  all  dance  to  her  tune  like  so  many  wooden 
marionettes.  Hofer  is  no  better  off  than  his  blacksmith — 
whose  savings  are  probably  in  the  fireproof  vault  of  some 
bank,  while  I  happen  to  know  that  more  than  one  million 
aire  has  not  insured  his  Class  A  buildings,  thinking  the 
expense  unnecessary.  No  wonder  you  have  a  sense  of  free 
dom.  So  have  I.  We  are  dancing  to  the  tune  of  the  un 
seen  forces.  They  will  do  the  thinking.  I  wonder,  by-the- 
way,  if  deep  down  in  the  brain  of  that  fleeing  ruined  tide 
of  elemental  beings  there  is  not  a  prick  of  gratified  vanity 
that  they  are  in  the  midst  of  a  great  and  horrible  ex 
perience  ?  We  have  been  reading  so  much  lately  of  the 
horrors  in  Russia,  we  have  read,  all  our  lives,  of  horrors 
and  atrocities  somewhere,  and  this  State  has  grinned  at  us 

689 


ANCESTORS 

so  unintermittently.  Now  we,  too,  are  actors  in  a  great 
life-and- death  drama.  I  don't  fancy  any  one  is  doing  even 
that  much  analysis,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  that  the  vague 
appreciation  of  the  fact  sustains  them  in  a  way — possibly 
gives  them  a  calm  sense  of  superiority  to  the  rest  of  the 
world Look  at  this." 

They  had  reached  Jackson  Street  on  the  flat  of  Nob 
Hill.  It  was  now  evening  and  the  exodus  from  China 
town  had  begun.  The  Mongolians  were  streaming  up 
from  their  threatened  quarter,  and,  like  the  others,  tramp 
ing  silently  out  to  the  Presidio.  The  merchants  had 
put  on  their  fine  clothes,  and  their  families — exposed  to 
the  Occidental  eye  for  the  first  time — wore  gorgeous  gar 
ments  of  bright  silks  covered  with  embroideries.  The 
poor  little  respectable  wives  tottered  along  on  their  foolish 
feet,  held  up  by  their  lords  or  their  "big-footed"  serving- 
women,  while  their  children  trudged  along  uncomplain 
ingly  and  stared  at  the  fire  with  big  expressionless  eyes. 
Mingling  freely  with  the  wealthy  autocrats  of  Chinatown 
were  the  coolies,  and  the  disreputable  women  with  which 
the  quarter  swarmed.  The  Chinese  rarely  import  their 
wives.  The  coolies  wore  their  blue  blouses  and  soft  felt 
hats,  and  the  women  had  painted  their  faces  and  built  up 
their  hair  as  usual,  shining  tower-like  coiffures  stuck  with 
large-lobed  pins,  cheap  or  costly,  according  to  their  grade. 
All  were  as  stolid  as  their  own  wooden  gods.  They  would 
have  looked  like  a  solemn  procession  on  a  festa  day  had 
it  not  been  for  the  bundles  and  strong-chests  they  carried. 

"Come  up  to  dinner,  such  as  it  is,"  said  Isabel,  to  Anne. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night?" 

"Camp  down  in  the  sand-lots  by  Fort  Mason  and  see 
what  I  can  do  for  those  poor  refugees.  There  will  be  great 

690 


A_     NCESTORS 

suffering,  I  am  afraid.  Many  women  should  be  in  hospital 
with  every  attention;  and  with  all  this  excitement  who 
knows  what  may  happen  ?  I  fancy  either  a  tent-hospital 
will  be  erected,  or  the  worst  cases  will  be  taken  into  the 
fort.  I  am  a  good  nurse,  and  I  told  the  Leader  I  should 
be  there.  There  will  be  many  children  to  look  after,  too. 
The  parents,  the  best  of  them,  won't  be  up  to  much." 

"Perhaps  I  will  go  down  later.  But  I  shall  wait  at  the 
house  until  I  have  seen  Mr.  Gwynne — he  may  need  food, 
or  be  hurt  in  any  of  a  dozen  ways.  If  you  see  him — and 
no  doubt  you  will,  if  you  are  to  be  at  the  fort — tell  him 
that  I  have  not  gone  to  the  country  and  have  no  intention 
of  going." 


XIV 


THEY  had  passed  members  of  the  Citizens'  Patrol 
on  every  block,  and  they  found  one  pacing  the  plank 
walk  on  Russian  Hill.  He  told  them  that  the  edict  had 
gone  forth  that  not  so  much  as  a  candle  should  be  lit  in  a 
house  that  night  and  that  all  cooking  must  be  done  out-of- 
doors.  The  spectacled  Jap  was  boiling  soup  on  one  of 
the  oil  stoves,  which  he  had  carried  into  the  garden  and 
half  surrounded  by  a  screen.  Beside  him  was  what  looked 
like  an  open  newly-dug  grave,  and  the  girls,  startled,  de 
manded  what  it  meant. 

Sugihara,  apparently,  never  smiled,  but  his  eyes  flickered. 
"Before  Cusha  and  Kuranaga  went  I  made  them  dig  a 
hole  for  the  silver/'  he  said.  "It  is  too  heavy  for  the 
launch.  If  we  are  driven  away,  I  will  cut  your  ancestors 
from  their  frames  and  take  them  with  us." 

"Well,  you  are  a  treasure/'  said  Isabel,  with  a  sigh. 
"You  shall  do  nothing  but  read  when  you  get  to  the  ranch." 

Lady  Victoria  was  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  porch, 
her  eyes  seldom  wandering  from  the  fire.  When  dinner 
was  ready,  she  merely  shook  her  head  impatiently,  and 
Isabel  and  her  guest  sat  down  in  the  little  tower-room, 
which  was  brilliantly  illuminated  from  below.  Sugihara 
had  made  a  very  good  soup  of  canned  corn  and  tomatoes 
and  had  fried  bits  of  meat  and  potato.  There  was  little 
conversation.  The  dynamiting  was  now  something  more 

6Q2 


ANCESTORS 

than  sporadic.  The  detonations  were  so  terrific  that  it 
was  not  difficult  for  the  San  Franciscans  to  imagine  them 
selves — supposing  they  had  a  grain  of  imagination  left — 
in  a  besieged  city.  Isabel  suggested,  and  Anne  agreed 
with  her,  that  they  might  have  been  far  worse  off  than 
they  were;  nature  at  her  extremest  is  never  so  pitiless  as 
the  human  brute  when  the  lust  to  kill  is  on  him. 

Isabel  prepared  the  remains  of  the  feast  for  Mr.  Clatt, 
arid  asked  Sugihara  if  he  would  object  to  relieving  the 
watch,  that  the  wharfinger  might  snatch  a  few  hours'  sleep. 
There  was  no  longer  any  danger  of  fire  except  from  the 
conflagration  itself,  and  now  that  the  dynamiting  had 
begun  in  earnest  it  was  possible  that  the  flames  would  be 
isolated  before  midnight. 

The  Jap  went  off  with  the  dish  in  one  hand  and  a  book 
in  the  other,  hoping  that  he  would  be  allowed  to  light  a 
candle  on  the  launch.  He  returned  in  a  few  moments, 
and  for  the  first  time  he  was  smiling. 

"Mr.  Clatt  will  not  give  up  his  watch,"  he  said.  "He 
says  he  might  miss  the  chance  to  put  a  hole  in  some — 
dago  (his  language  was  very  bad,  Miss).  He  says  there's 
not  a  wink  of  sleep  in  him." 

"No  doubt  but  that  he  will  hold  on  to  it,  unless  the 
military  step  in,"  said  Anne.  "Then,  I  fancy,  he  would 
surrender  very  meekly.  They  have  impressed  a  good 
many  launches  for  prisoners  and  dynamite.  But  I  hope 
not,  for  whether  the  fire  comes  up  the  hills  or  not,  there  is 
going  to  be  terrible  privation.  Heaven  knows  how  many 
days  it  will  be  before  we  have  enough  water  even  to  drink, 
and  I  heard  a  little  while  ago  that  as  soon  as  food  comes  in 
the  authorities  will  establish  relief  stations,  where  every 
body,  from  the  millionaire  to  John  Chinaman,  will  have 

693 


ANCESTOR    _S 

to  stand  in  line  and  wait  for  his  loaf  of  bread.     Wouldn't 
it  be  better  for  you  to  go  at  once  ?" 

"I  fancy  I  can  endure  as  much  as  any  one, and  if  I  am 
driven  from  here  I  will  go  down  to  you.  I  shall  go  down 
anyhow  when  I  have  seen  Mr.  Gwynne.  I  do  not  propose 
to  lie  in  a  hammock  while  several  hundred  thousand  people 
are  sleeping  on  the  ground.  What  do  you  take  me 
for  ?" 

"Somehow  I  don't  see  you  as  a  nurse,  or  amusing  chil 
dren,  or  doling  out  bread  and  raiment.  You  would  be 
much  more  in  the  picture  encouraging  Mr.  Gwynne.  How 
ever — I  am  going  to  impress  your  linen  and  a  clothes- 
basket  to  carry  it  in.  No  doubt  the  philosophical  Sugihara 
will  help  me  carry  it  to  the  fort." 

"Take  what  you  like."  Isabel  directed  her  to  the  lin 
en-closet,  and  went  down  to  the  veranda.  She  paused 
abruptly  in  the  doorway.  Victoria's  face  could  be  seen 
only  in  profile,  but  its  expression,  as  she  gazed  down  upon 
that  tossing  twisting  furious  flame  ocean,  needed  no  ana 
lytical  faculty  to  interpret.  It  was  voluptuous,  ecstatic. 

Isabel  crossed  the  porch  in  a  stride. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?"  she  demanded,  imperiously. 

Victoria  did  not  turn  with  a  start.  She  did  not  turn  at 
all.  "I  am  thinking,"  she  replied,  automatically,  as  if  in 
obedience  to  the  stronger  will — "I  am  thinking  that  at  last 
I  understand  what  it  is  we  are  so  blindly  striving  for  from 
the  hour  when  we  can  think  at  all;  what  it  is — that  un 
satisfied  desire  that  urges  us  on  and  on  to  so  many  fatal 
experiments  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  The  great  goal, 
the  real  meaning  of  our  miserable  balked  mortal  existence 
is  not  that  dancing  will-o'-the-wisp  we  call  happiness,  for 
want  of  a  better  name.  It  is  Death." 

694 


A      N      C E       S       T      O       R      S 

"Well?"  Isabel's  voice  rose,  but  she  kept  the  anxiety 
out  of  it. 

"I  cannot  imagine  anything  more  delicious,"  went  on 
Victoria,  in  the  same  low  rich  tones,  "than  to  walk  straight 
down  those  hills  and  into  that  sea  of  flame.  I  have  always 
admired  Empedocles,  who  cast  himself  into  Etna.  Once 
I  saw  a  friend  cremated,  and  the  brief  vision  of  that  white 
incandescence,  before  the  coffin  shot  down,  seemed  to  me 
the  apotheosis,  the  voluptuous  poetry  of  death.  I  could 
walk  down  into  that  colossal  furnace  without  flinching, 
and  I  believe  that  my  last  moment,  as  the  world  disap 
peared  behind  me,  and  those  superb  flames  took  me  into 
their  embrace,  would  be  one  of  sublimest  ecstasy." 

Isabel  caught  her  by  the  shoulders  and  whirled  her  about. 
"Well, you  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  cried,  roughly. 
"In  the  first  place  you  couldn't  get  through  the  lines,  and 
in  the  second  you  are  wanted  at  Fort  Mason.  Anne  is 
going  down  with  a  basket  of  linen  for  the  poor  women  who 
will  be  confined  to-night.  You  are  an  uncommonly  strong 
woman,  and  you  can  make  use  of  every  bit  of  your  strength. 
Anne  and  the  Leader  are  frail  creatures,  and  no  one  else 
that  I  know  of  is  going.  They  need  you,  and  you  will  soon 
have  your  hands  so  full  that  your  head  will  be  purged  of 
this  nonsense.  It  is  the  fire  lust  —  the  same  lust  that 
incited  a  boy  to-day  to  attempt  to  set  fire  to  a  house  in  this 
district  that  he  might  watch  the  whole  city  burn.  I  hope 
your  egoism  exploded  in  that  climax.  Here  comes  Anne. 
You  must  go." 

"Very  well,"  said  Victoria,  suddenly  dazed,  and  with  a 
will  relaxed  after  the  long  tension  of  the  day.  "I  will  go." 

"Where  are  your  jewels?" 

"Down  in  the  bank." 

695 


ANCESTORS 

"Well,  gather  up  any  other  small  things  you  treasure, 
and  either  conceal  them  about  you  or  give  them  to  me." 

"I  shall  not  take  anything.  My  laces  are  in  the  chif- 
fonniere.  I  do  not  care  to  enter  the  house  again." 

Isabel  fetched  her  hat  and  jacket,  for  in  spite  of  the  fire 
it  would  be  cold  near  the  water;  and  a  few  moments  later 
she  stood  on  the  edge  of  Green  and  Jones  streets,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hill,  and  watched  Victoria  and  Anne, 
carrying  a  large  clothes-basket  between  them,  carefully 
making  their  way  down  to  the  level.  They  had  a  walk  of 
some  thirteen  blocks  before  them,  but  the  streets  were  full 
of  people  and  of  ruddy  light. 

She  returned  to  the  house  and  sat  down  on  the  porch, 
her  eyes  diverted  from  the  fire  for  a  moment  by  the  picture 
of  Sugihara,  a  pair  of  eye-glasses  in  front  of  his  specta 
cles,  comfortably  established  on  a  chair  in  the  garden  and 
reading  by  the  lamp  of  the  burning  city.  It  was  apparent 
that  he  had  forgotten  the  i8th  of  April. 

Isabel  was  alone  but  a  moment.  Stone  burst  in  upon 
her.  He  had  approached  from  behind,  and  came  running 
down  the  hill. 

"Isabel,"  he  cried.     "Get  a  bottle  of  champagne." 

"Champagne?" 

"Yes.  It  may  be  six  months  before  I  see  another — but 
that  is  a  mere  detail.  I  want  to  drink  to  the  old  city." 

Isabel,  who  liked  him  best  in  his  dramatic  moments, 
found  a  bottle  of  champagne.  He  knocked  the  head  off, 
and  filling  the  glass,  went  down  to  the  first  landing  of  the 
long  narrow  flight  of  steps.  He  held  the  glass  high,  pointing 
it  first  towards  the  middle  of  what  had  been  Market  Street, 
and  was  now  a  river  of  fire,  then  slowly  shifting  it  along 
towards  Kearney  and  Montgomery,  as  he  named  the  res- 

696 


^    N       C     _E__S_^T 0       R       S 

taurants  that  had  given  San  Francisco  no  mean  part  of 
her  fame. 

"Here's  to  Zinkand's,  Tait's,  The  Palace  Grill!  The 
Poodle  Dog!  Marchand's!  The  Pup!  Delmonico's! 
Coppa's!  The  Fashion!  The  Hotel  de  France!  And 
here's  to  the  Cocktail  Route,  the  Tenderloin,  and  the  Bo 
hemian  Club!  And  here's —  By  this  time  his  voice  was 
dissolving,  and  the  glass  was  describing  eccentric  curves. 
"Here's  to  the  old  city,  whose  like  will  never  be  seen 
this  side  of  hell  again.  Pretty  good  imitation  of  heaven 
in  spots,  and  everything  you  chose  to  look  for,  anyway. 
And  the  prettiest  women,  the  best  fellows,  the  greatest 
all-night  life,  the  finest  cooking,  the  wickedest  climate. 
Here's  to  Sai)  Francisco — and  damn  the  bounder  that  calls 
her  'Frisco!" 

Then  he  drank  what  was  left  of  the  contents  of  his  glass 
and  hastily  refilled  it.  After  he  had  finished  the  bottle 
luxuriously,  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Isabel.  "Come 
along?"  he  asked.  Then,  as  she  shook  her  head:  "I 
must  go  back  to  Paula  and  the  kids.  The  mattresses 
are  out  in  the  Park  already.  You  are  in  no  danger,  what 
with  the  neighbors  above  and  the  patrol.  Good  luck  to 
you,"  and  he  vanished. 

Isabel  was  alone  at  last,  a  state  she  had  unconsciously 
wished  for  all  day — it  seemed  a  month  since  the  morning. 
She  sat  down  and  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  railing.  Now 
that  the  sun  was  gone,  the  heavens,  or  the  smoke  obscuring 
them,  were  as  red  as  that  sea  beneath  which  seemed  to 
devour  a  house  a  minute  as  it  rolled  out  towards  the 
Mission  and  worked  with  all  its  might  among  the  great 
business  blocks  between  Market  Street  and  Telegraph 
Hill.  Some  one  had  estimated  that  the  columns  of  fire 

697 


J 


A       N       C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

were  seven  miles  high,  and  they  certainly  looked  as  if  they 
had  melted  the  very  stars.  Here  and  there  was  a  play  of 
blue  flames,  doubtless  from  some  explosive  substance,  and 
when  the  dynamite  shot  the  entrails  from  a  house  there 
was  a  gorgeous  display  of  fireworks — the  golden  showers 
of  sparks  symbolizing  the  treasure  that  blackened  and 
crumbled  in  dropping  back  to  earth. 

Before  sitting  down  she  had  swept  the  distant  hills  with 
her  field-glass  and  seen  thousands  of  people  lying  not  ten 
feet  apart,  like  an  exhausted  army  after  battle.  In  that 
intense  glare  she  could  even  study  the  eccentric  positions 
of  the  fallen  headstones  and  monuments  in  the  old  deserted 
cemeteries — Lone  Mountain  and  Calvary.  The  cross  on 
the  lofty  point  of  the  bare  hill  behind  the  Catholic  cemetery 
was  red  against  the  blackness  of  the  west;  and  hundreds 
of  weary  mortals  were  huddled  about  its  base.  She  tried 
to  pity  all  those  terrified  uncomfortable  creatures  out  there, 
but  again  the  part  they  played  in  the  greatest  natural 
drama  of  modern  times  occurred  to  her,  and  she  thought 
that  should  console  them. 

She  wondered  at  her  lack  of  sentimental  regret  at  the 

destruction  of  her  beloved  city.     But  sentiment  seemed  a 

/mere  drop  of  insult  to  be  cast  into  that  ocean  of  calamity. 

/  Moreover,  she  was  pricked  by  a  sense  that  it  was  a  living 

^sentient  thing,  that  city,  and  was  getting  its  just  dues  for 

the  hearts  it  had  devoured,  the  lives  it  had  ruined,  the 

merciless  clutch  it  had  kept  upon  so  many  that  were  made 

for  better  things.     To  its  vice  she  gave  little  thought;  she 

fancied  it  was   not  worse  than   other  cities,  if  the  truth 

were  known;   it  was   the   picturesqueness   of  its   methods 

that  had  held  it  in  the  limelight.      But  that  it  was  one 

of  the  world's  juggernauts,  and  the   more   cruel  for  its 

698 


A       NCESTORS 

ever  laughing  beguiling  face — of  that  there  was  no  man 
ner  of  doubt. 

She  wondered  also  that  she  was  not  in  a  fever  of  anxiety 
about  Gwynne.  She  had  interrogated  the  sentry  and  been 
informed  that  the  automobiles  carrying  dynamite  dashed 
straight  down  to  the  fire  line,  often  within;  that  a  number 
of  the  soldiers,  whose  duty  it  was  to  lay  the  explosive,  had 
been  wounded  and  carried  to  the  hospitals;  that  there  was 
always  the  risk  of  a  laden  machine  being  suddenly  sur 
rounded  by  fire,  for  many  houses  were  ignited  by  the 
sparks,  and,  in  that  wooden  district  down  there,  burned 
like  tinder.  Perhaps,  like  Victoria,  she  was  too  sure  of 
his  destiny;  perhaps  the  picture  of  the  future  with  him 
that  she  had  conceived  refused  to  alter  its  lines ;  or  it 
may  be  that  there  was  no  place  in  the  impersonal  arrange 
ment  of  her  faculties  the  double  catastrophe  had  effected, 
for  fear;  or  for  anything  beyond  the  impressions  of  the 
moment.  Her  mind  worked  on  mechanically.  She  was 
determined  to  remain  as  long  as  there  was  a  possibility 
of  Gwynne's  returning  for  food  or  care.  But  the  soul  be 
neath  was  possessed  by  an  absolute  calm.  She  had  the 
sense  of  having  been  taken  into  partnership  with  nature 
that  morning;  so  sudden  and  personal  had  been  that 
assault,  from  which  she  yet  had  issued  unscathed.  She 
felt  that  everything  that  would  follow  in  life,  excepting 
only  her  love  for  Gwynne,  would  be  too  petty  to  regard 
more  seriously  than  the  daily  meals.  Not  that  she  had 
more  than  a  bare  mental  appreciation  of  the  phases  of 
love  at  the  moment;  but  it  possessed  her  and  it  was 
infinite. 

She  sat  motionless  until  nearly  two  o'clock  and  then  went 
up  to  her  room  and  lay  down.  It  was  not  possible  to 

44  699 


ANCESTORS 

sleep  for  more  than  a  few  moments  at  a  time,  for  the  de 
tonations  were  almost  incessant,  but  she  forced  herself 
to  rest,  not  knowing  what  work  the  morrow  might  have  in 
store.  When  she  finally  rose  and  looked  out  of  her  window 
she  saw  that  the  fire  was  coming  up  the  hills. 


SHE  barely  touched  the  breakfast  prepared  by  the  me 
thodical  Sugihara,  who  had  already  buried  the  silver, 
and  cut  the  pictures  from  their  frames,  rolled,  and  tied 
them  securely. 

"It  is  only  a  question  of  a  few  hours,"  he  said.  "The 
dynamiting  so  far  has  done  more  harm  than  good.  They 
take  a  house  at  a  time  instead  of  a  block,  and  as  it  falls 
apart  it  ignites  another  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street. 
The  army  doesn't  like  to  interfere,  and  the  mayor  has  too 
long  been  obsequious  to  capital.  Mr.  Clatt  is  still  there 
with  the  launch  behind  him.  I  took  him  down  his  break 
fast  some  time  ago.  He  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he'd  'got 
his  job  cut  out  for  him  now,  as  the  Dagos  were  beginning 
to  leave  Telegraph  Hill."3 

Isabel  had  one  or  two  moments  of  panic  as  she 
watched  those  waves  of  flame  beat  up  the  hill,  and  pict 
ured  them  raging  up  the  eastern  slopes  as  well;  but  the 
panic  passed,  for  she  knew  that  there  were  two  exits  still 
open.  The  heavens  were  black.  A  disk  like  a  sealing- 
wax  wafer  indicated  the  position  of  the  sun.  The  heat 
was  terrific.  The  dynamiting  was  incessant,  but  it  did  not 
drown  the  roar  and  the  eager  furious  crackle  of  the  flames, 
the  reverberating  crash  of  falling  walls.  And  the  flames 
were  the  redder  for  the  blackness  above.  Cinders  were 
falling  all  over  the  heights,  and  the  smoke  burned  the  eyes. 

701 


A       N       C      E       S    JT    ^)       R 5 

"I  shall  feel  like  Casablanca  presently,  and  rather 
ridiculous,"  she  reflected,  "but  I  shall  stay  till  the  last 
possible  moment."  She  went  within  and  packed  a  pillow 
case  with  Lady  Victoria's  laces  and  other  portable  ob 
jects  of  value  and  adornment,  then  gathered  up  similar 
belongings  of  her  own,  tied  the  case  firmly  about  the  neck, 
stood  it  where  it  could  be  snatched  in  flight,  and  returned 
to  the  porch. 

The  boarding  -  house  district,  several  blocks  of  large 
wooden  houses,  seemed  literally  to  be  swept  from  its 
foundations  by  those  rushing  pillars  of  fire.  The  whole 
quarter  was  wiped  out  in  an  hour,  and  then  the  fire 
turned  its  attention  to  the  higher  slopes. 

It  played  with  them  for  a  while,  darting  west  and  re 
turning  for  a  morsel  at  which  it  leaped  with  the  agility 
of  a  living  monster,  went  west  again;  then,  its  appetite 
whetted  and  its  greed  insatiable,  it  started  straight  for 
Nob  Hill.  The  soldiers  drove  the  faithful  servants  out 
of  the  houses  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Then — in  a 
moment — the  familiar  curtains  were  blowing  out  of  the 
windows — shrivelled  to  a  crisp  and  pursued  by  the  red 
rage  behind. 

Sugihara  did  not  go  through  the  form  of  cooking  lunch 
eon.  He  knew  that  his  mistress  would  not  eat,  and  he 
had  as  little  appetite  himself.  He  folded  his  arms  on  the 
top  of  the  fence  and  waited  for  the  signal  to  retreat. 

Isabel  went  into  the  house  repeatedly  and  dipped  her 
burning  face  into  a  basin  of  water,  but  returned  quickly 
to  her  post.  The  fire  was  running  from  the  east  along 
California  Street  hill;  she  saw  the  men  who  had  been 
cutting  pictures  from  their  frames  in  the  Institute  of  Art 
flee  to  the  west,  then  watched  the  Gothic  structure  flare 

702 


-d_JN__C_  _E 5_  _T 0_  J? S 

up  and  burn  like  an  old  hay-stack:  that  monument  to  a 
millionaire  whose  name  would  be  already  forgotten  had 
it  not  been  tacked  to  the  gift.  The  fire  reached  California 
Street,  on  the  edge  of  the  plateau,  from  the  south,  coming 
ap  the  west  side  of  Taylor  Street.  Other  great  houses  of 
the  rich  were  so  many  roaring  furnaces — several  were  cu 
riously  neglected  and  isolated  by  the  fire,  that  seemed  to 
have  gone  mad  with  its  own  lust.  The  eastern  slopes  were 
a  mass  of  smouldering  ruins,  not  black,  but  the  most  ex 
quisite  tints  of  violet,  rose,  chrome,  gray,  sepia,  yellow. 
They  looked,  with  their  arches  and  columns,  towers  and 
broken  walls,  like  the  Roman  Forum  and  the  Palatine 
Hill  on  a  colossal  scale.  About  and  through  them  float 
ed  clouds  of  fine  white  ashes,  ghostly  restless  dust  of  un 
thinkable  treasure. 

Suddenly,  hardly  crediting  her  eyes,  Isabel  saw  an  auto 
mobile  labor  up  the  steep  acclivity,  through  that  swirling 
furnace,  and  dart  across  California  Street  and  in  the 
direction  of  Russian  Hill.  She  knew  that  Gwynne  was 
in  it,  and  a  moment  later  Hofer  discharged  him  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps,  then  ran  the  car  out  Jackson  Street  at 
the  top  of  its  speed. 

Gwynne  walked  up  the  steps  and  along  the  plank  walk. 
Isabel  recognized  him  by  his  carriage,  for  he  was  as  black 
as  a  coal-heaver  and  most  of  his  hair  was  burned  off. 

"I  should  like  to  wash  first,"  he  said,  as  he  came  up 
the  house  flight.     "The  water  will  go  with  the  rest." 
"Of  course.     Do  you  want  anything  to  eat." 
"No,  I  had  some  sandwiches  a  while  ago." 
He  went  up  to  his  room  and  Isabel  awaited  him  in  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  living-room,  where  it  may  have  been 
a  trifle  less  hot  and  less  noisy  than  elsewhere. 

703 


ANCESTORS 

He  came  down  in  a  moment.  "That  was  a  close  shave," 
he  said.  "We  didn't  know  what  we  were  in  for,  and  it 
was  either  go  on  and  hope  for  better  luck  at  the  top,  or 
dive  down  into  a  very  good  imitation  of  a  live  volcano." 

He  was  recognizable,  although  his  khaki  clothes  were 
black  and  burned,  and  one  side  of  his  head  made  him  look 
as  if  he  had  just  been  discharged  from  a  military  hospital. 

"I  shall  rest  for  a  few  moments  and  then  go  back,"  he 
said,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair  opposite  Isabel.  "I 
never  forgot  you,  but  I  made  sure  Stone  had  delivered  my 
message  and  that  you  were  on  the  ranch.  I  saw  my 
mother  and  Miss  Montgomery  an  hour  ago.  You  must 
get  out  of  this  at  once." 

"Tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing,"  said  Isabel 
evasively. 

"I  have  been  alive,"  he  said,  intensely.  "Never  in  all 
my  days  have  I  found  life  so  wonderful.  Battle  is  nothing 
to  it.  For  the  best  part  of  two  days  I  have  been  dodging 
the  open  jaws  of  death  every  minute;  and  the  sensation  of 
pitting  one's  puny  human  strength  and  the  accumulated 
wit  of  several  thousand  years  of  varied  civilization  against 
an  element  in  its  might  has  inspired  me  with  the  only  con 
summate  approval  of  life  that  I  have  ever  known al 
though  I  might  have  known  it  the  day  before  yesterday  if 
you  had  looked  as  you  do  now."  He  sat  steadily  regard 
ing  her  for  a  few  moments  without  speaking,  but  he  was 
sensible  of  no  immediate  wish  to  touch  her.  That,  too, 
belonged  to  a  possibly  greater  but  far  different  to-morrow. 
He  was  keyed  very  high.  He  did  not  feel  himself  so  much 
a  human  being  as  a  component  part  of  one  force  disputing 
every  inch  of  the  progress  of  a  mightier. 

"Great  God,  what  men!"  he  burst  out.  "I  have  been 

704 


A       N      C       E       S       T       O       R       S 

with  some  member  of  the  Committee  of  Fifty,  on  and  off, 
these  two  days,  to  say  nothing  of  last  night — Mr.  Phelan 
invited  me  to  serve  on  it  yesterday  morning.  They  are 
superb,  not  daunted  for  a  moment,  talking  already  of 
the  new  city,  of  the  opportunity  this  conflagration  has 
given  them  to  make  it  over  in  every  way.  Architects  were 
engaged  before  three  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon.  And 
the  young  business  men  that  have  been  cleaned  out! 
They  talk  only  of  the  enormous  possibilities  of  the  future. 
I  remember  reading  once  of  much  the  same  spirit  exhibited 
by  Londoners  after  the  Great  Fire.  It  is  the  most  won 
derful  thing  in  the  world  that  for  a  few  days  at  least  you 
are  permitted  to  cherish  an  unleavened  respect  for  human 
nature.  Every  mean  cowardly  and  selfish  trait  that  chains 
man  to  earth  is  moribund  to-day,  in  the  normal  at  least; 
and  the  rats  have  run  to  other  holes.  The  higher  qualities, 
those  that  have  inspired  the  world  since  it  began,  are  in 
full  possession,  f  And,  by  Jove,  it  is  going  to  be  the  pioneer 
life  over  again!  vDo  you  remember  that  I  regretted  once  I 
could  not  be  in  at  the  foundation  and  growth  of  a  great 
city,  also  that  the  drawback  to  such  an  opportunity  wa's 
that  one  was  never  conscious  of  his  part  ?  Well,  now  we  are 
back  to  the  conditions  of  the  Fifties,  and  we  know  it.  We 
shall  work  for  tremendous  stakes,  and  in  no  doubt  of  the 
result."  \ 

"The Enthusiastic  moment  has  come,"  said  Isabel. 

"Rather.  Here  is  my  part  cut  out  for  me.  Here  I  stay 
and  become  a  chief  factor  in  making  this  city  greater  even 
than  before.  That  is  enough  for  any  man.  And  there 
will  be  plenty  of  fight.  Politics  will  crawl  back  to  new 
strongholds,  as  soon  as  men  become  egos  again,  but  I  shall 
fight  them  here,  not  in  the  country." 

705 


ANCESTORS 

He  stood  up,  and  Isabel  asked,  hastily:  "Have  you  had 
no  sleep  ?" 

"Hofer  and  I  broke  into  an  empty  house  in  the  West 
ern  Addition  towards  morning  and  slept  on  the  floor  for 
three  hours.  I  have  known  harder  beds.  I  must  go.  I 
felt  that  I  must  look  at  you  and  order  you  to  leave  at 
once." 

"I  don't  want  to  leave  the  city." 

"You  must  go.  The  fire  will  have  taken  this  house 
before  midnight.  You  will  be  ordered  out  before  that. 
They  may  save  the  city  west  of  Van  Ness  Avenue,  for  the 
mayor  at  last  has  consented  that  several  blocks  shall  be 
blown  up  at  once.  I  am  carrying  dynamite.  If  I  saw 
Russian  Hill  on  fire  and  was  not  sure  that  you  were  out 
of  harm's  way,  it  would  unnerve  me,  and  I  need  all  the 
nerve  I've  got." 

"I  can  go  down  to  Fort  Mason." 

"  I  want  to  know  that  you  are  out  of  the  city.  I  think 
my  mother  is  better  off  where  she  is.  She  is  working 
with  a  will  down  there  and  absolutely  refused  to  leave. 
I  did  not  insist  —  no  fire  could  cross  those  sand -lots, 
and  I  fancy  she  needs  occupation.  But  you  must 

go-" 

"I  should  be  as  safe." 

"Perhaps.  But  I  should  be  beset  by  fears  that 
you  had  ventured  too  far.  I  can  be  quite  impersonal, 
keen,  steady  of  hand  and  brain,  if  you  are  out  of  the 
city." 

"Very  well,  I  will  go." 

'The  day  the  fire  is  over  I  will  go  for  you  and  we  will 
marry  and  live  in  any  shanty  we  can  find — begin  life  to 
gether  like  any  Forty-niners.  You  can  help  others  as  much 


ANCESTORS 

as  you  choose  then.  There  will  be  work  for  all — but  now 
there  is  not,  cannot  be  until  organization  begins.  And 
I  must  be  free  to  take  care  of  you.  Will  you  go  at  once  ? 
The  launch  is  still  there." 

"Yes,  I  will  go  at  once." 

He  left  her,  and  a  few  moments  later  she  was  walking 
down  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  the  voluminous  pillow-case 
slung  over  her  shoulder.  Beside  her  trudged  Sugihara, 
the  ancestors  under  one  arm,  and  his  library  under  the 
other.  The  street  along  the  water-front  was  a  moving 
mass  of  refugees  from  Telegraph  Hill,  and  Mr.  Clatt  was 
standing  in  the  launch,  on  the  alert.  He  gave  a  shout  of 
delight  as  he  saw  Isabel,  and  she  waved  her  hand.  As  she 
reached  the  wharf  and  forced  her  way  through  the  Italians 
and  Mexicans,  who  regarded  her  with  no  great  favor,  she 
noticed  a  small  party  of  Chinese  evidently  in  distress.  The 
woman,  magnificently  arrayed,  and  hardly  larger  than  a 
child,  was  huddled  against  the  sea-wall,  dumbly  protesting 
that  she  could  go  no  farther.  Her  face  was  twisted  and  her 
eyes  were  staring  with  pain  and  fright.  A  pretty  child  in 
three  shirts  of  different  colors,  all  silken  and  embroidered, 
was  wailing  in  the  common  language  of  his  years,  and  the 
young  husband  argued  with  his  wife  in  vain:  she  made  no 
response,  but  her  passive  resistance  was  as  effective  as  if 
her  feet  had  been  six.  She  would  not  let  her  maid  touch 
her,  and  her  husband  dared  not  relinquish  his  hold  on  his 
strong-box  while  surrounded  by  his  formidable  neighbors 
of  Telegraph  Hill. 

Isabel,  glad  to  be  able  to  do  something  for  some  one, 
told  him  to  hand  the  box  to  Mr.  Clatt,  then  carry  his  wife 
on  board  the  launch.  The  nurse  followed  with  the  child, 
while  Isabel  and  Sugihara,  having  cast  their  own  burdens 

707 


ANCESTORS 

on  board,  and  drawn  their  pistols,  brought  up  in  the 
rear. 

As  the  launch  entered  the  current  that  would  carry  it 
east  of  Angel  Island,  Isabel  looked  at  her  guests — the 
Chinese  wife  and  her  child  lying  on  the  cushions  of  the 
cabin,  stolid  once  more;  the  big-footed  maid  and  the  hus 
band,  his  strong-box  between  his  knees,  seated  opposite; 
the  Japanese,  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  roof,  his  back  to 
the  land — no  doubt  to  emphasize  his  contempt  for  the  rab 
ble;  Mr.  Clatt,  shaking  his  fist  at  a  group  of  vociferating 
Italians — and  smiled  grimly  as  she  recalled  the  romantic 
boat  party  that  escaped  from  Pompeii.  She  did  not  feel 
in  the  least  romantic,  but  she  felt  something  greater  and 
deeper. 

She  turned  her  head  many  times  to  look  at  the  wonder 
ful  spectacle  of  the  burning  city,  the  red  curtain  in  the 
background,  along  whose  front  rushed  the  pillars  of  fire 
driven  by  the  rolling  masses  of  smoke.  Where  the  fires 
on  Nob  Hill  had  burned  low  the  flames  looked  like  red 
sprouting  corn.  Fairmont  had  caught  at  last.  It  stood, 
a  great  square  pile  of  white  stone  against  the  red  back 
ground,  and  from  its  top  alone  poured  a  steady  square 
volume  of  curling  white  smoke.  The  windows,  and  there 
were  many  hundreds  of  them,  looked  like  plates  of  brass. 
The  last  thing  she  saw,  as  the  launch  shot  up  the  bay 
towards  San  Pablo,  was  a  wave  of  fire  roll  down  Tel 
egraph  Hill,  and  hundreds  of  black  pigmies  fleeing  be 
fore  it. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening  of  perfect  peace  when  the 
launch  entered  Rosewater  creek.  The  marsh  was  bathed 
in  all  the  faint  colors  of  the  afterglow.  The  birds  were 
singing.  People  were  sitting  under  the  trees  in  their  parks 

708 


A       NCESTORS 

or  gardens.  A  fisherman  was  sailing  up  to  Rosewater 
with  his  catch.  But  for  the  red  light  in  the  south  and  the 
faint  sound  as  of  a  besieging  army,  there  was  nothing  to 
recall  that  a  civilization  had  been  arrested  and  a  great 
city  was  burning  down  to  its  bones. 


THE  END 


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